Point of No Return
by ILoanADogma
Summary: Christine has left Erik, and bears Raoul twins a son and daughter. But one child is born disfigured, and both of them look nothing like 'daddy'. What happens when Erik mistakenly kidnaps his daughter, the young Marie de Chagney, and her torn brother swe
1. Chaptire 1

Prologue

"Son of Satan!"

The woman screamed and cried out as the contractions came hard and fierce; her white hand tightly pierced the fingers of the man kneeling by her side. Mentally he thanked himself for removing her rings, which would have ground his flesh to the bone.

"Such language dear! I can assure you it didn't come from me..."

The woman allowed herself a death glare in his direction before a fresh wave of pain made her wail anew. Seconds later, the man was thrilled to see the slimy baby make its way into the world. Amidst his wife's moans and his own aching appendages, of course.

Beaming, he reached out for the child as the doctor finished tending to it, and sat it gently in the crook of his arms. He brought it close to his wife, willing her to look. A beautiful boy...

But she didn't seem finished yet.

"Not...done!"

To the utter disbelief of everyone present, a second child fought its way through the blood of its sibling, trying to fight its way out of the womb. The woman pushed and groaned, trying all in her power to deliver it.

"It's breached! In position, men. We're going to have to help it..."

The husband held to the first child desperately, his eyes a mask of fear as the doctors crowded around his wife, trying to safely deliver the second child.

"Victor, you imbecile!"

The husband jumped as an elder doctor shoved a younger one out of the way. The younger doctor looked stunned, and the momentum from the push shoved him against the wall, which he slowly sank down, his bloody hands held up in front of him.

"Here we are..."

The husband finally breathed as the second child was brought successfully into the world. As it was cared for, the husband noticed the lack of excitement or congratulations that he had met with the first child. Anxious, he glanced over at his wife, who lie in bed, completely exhausted.

"Their hair seems so dark..."

The doctor glanced up quickly, attempting to tend to the young wife as she panted from her exertion.

"It's most common. Parents who are brown-haired often bear children with darker hair, and by the age of five it'll lighten."

The husband looked down to his son once more.

"A young, healthy daughter sir."

The man started as the second infant was placed in the unoccupied crook of his other arm. Smiling, he gazed down at his new children—and twins, at that! Looking first upon his son, his eyes shifted to that of the troublesome one, the daughter.

His heart froze.

"Sir... I am sorry. She was breached, and we did all we could to twist her out–"

A dirty look from the older physician was shot towards the younger, who looked as if he wanted to disappear from the face of the earth.

The husband felt himself begin to cry as his eyes gazed down upon the face of his second born, his daughter...

A face that was twisted and disfigured...

33333333333333333333

Memoir Un

"Dammit, fate won't leave me alone."

His hands curled angrily against the edges of the paper, a paper which had just thrown his mood into the worst of tempers.

"The Vicount de Chagney proudly announces the birth of his heir and twin sister Micah and Marie de Chagney. Well wishers would be welcome to show their–"

Erik stopped reading, his voice threatening to break down completely.

So, that was it. Game, set, match. Again.

Of course, he had always held out that she still loved him; her kiss to him that night hardly proved otherwise. And yet... the children completely shattered his illusions and hopes. Didn't they? Hadn't they...

No. Of course not.

How pathetic, really. It's been thirteen years since the yellowed article had first been read by his eye, and what had he done about it? A great load of rotting in the lair, that's what... Why did he continue to torture himself with his doubts and fears?

"More brandy, that's the ticket..."

His mask lay on the chair next to him, innocent enough. Growling, he grabbed it and hastily threw it onto his face. He whisked his cloak about his shoulders, and made sure the wig was properly in place.

What he was doing was madness; she obviously wanted nothing to do with him if she's had children with Raoul, and twins at that! Though they'd be teenagers now...

He needed some brandy... strong. And fast, if he was to do this properly.

"Time to pay Madame de Chagney a visit."

333333333333333

Christine was morbid; not even the antics of Marie were able to sway her mood, and that was saying something.

The young girl was lively and vivacious; curious about the world her and wanting to know everything about it. Though of course, her parents were reluctant to let her outside the house very often. Usually it was Micah who saw the sights of the town; off capering with Raoul in the city, as he was proudly shown off as the heir to the de Chagney household.

Marie, however, stayed inside.

It wasn't that she had no freedom to travel into the city of Paris itself; in fact, her parents were more than willing to defend her the moment someone commented on her deformity. It was her choice; who wanted strangers gawking at her face anyway?

Sighing, Christine opened the grand doors of the house, and let them open up to the inviting night in front of her. Time to take a walk. A long one. Perhaps with some brandy...

Alone in her room, Marie de Chagney stood in front of her mirror. Her own disfigurement was a source of fascination for her, though she often loathed the negative attention received from it. Leaning close into the glass, she studied the right side of her face.

It actually wasn't too distinguishing from a far away glance, but horrid enough; her right ear was twisted and mangled, the skin sagged down to her jawline, and most of her right face was a pink-red, with a large star-burst birthmark accenting the deformity. Almost mocking it.

Scowling, she let her long black hair slide over her face, effectively covering any traces of abnormality.

Most thought she was shy and quiet for the way she covered her face, but her parents knew better. Though lately, it seemed as though she'd grown distant from them. Mother spent most of her time away, on trips visiting people in the city. When she was home, she seemed despondent and depressed. Father, on the other hand, was always working, and always taking Micah with him. Between the two, Marie rarely had time to be fussed over.

Succeeding in upsetting herself once more, Marie raced over to her mother's room. There was always something there to capture her attention.

Immediately Marie went for the heavy, iron-wrought chest that sat in the very back of her mother's closet. The child had long ago learned to pick the lock, and contented herself to digging through the items in it when she was in a weird mood. Like now.

Carefully she began to take items out and set them reverently on the floor; her hands were familiar with the old artifacts underneath, and she began where she had left off last time; a hand-crafted jewelry box.

A noise at her mother's window made her jump. She turned, but saw nothing but the darkness outside.

Her attention returned once more to the box. She opened it slowly, taking in the smell of chestnut as the hinges squeaked in protest. She was surprised at what she found inside, and she quickly grew excited.

A simple, elegant, white half-mask laid inside the box, perfect in condition.

Marie jumped up, and eagerly pressed the mask to her face. Clearly it was too big, and not meant for her, but what a treasure none the less! Maybe she could get one for her, to hide her ugly face... Her thoughts turned to how Raoul would be coming home soon. She really needed to clean up before then.

Then the sound at the window resurfaced.

Marie spun around, and was shocked to find someone staring back at her. He was in the tree branches, curiously gazing at her through the window. Then he realized she was staring at him, and his gaze turned to shock and... fear? It was a man! A man with a white mask identical to the one that she held pressed to her own face.

Before she could say or do anything, he had crawled cat-like through the window, and snatched her around the waist. He covered her mouth quickly so she couldn't scream, and before either of them knew it, they were spriting away from the house.

The mask had dropped from Marie's hands, and lay conspicuously on the floor.


	2. Chapitre 2

Oh perfect... just utterly smashing.

Erik gritted his teeth hard against each other as he stole away through the night, a child in his arms.

What the hell had possessed him to do something so incredibly stupid? And the blasted de Chagney child while he was at it... the entire bloody patrol would be after his neck once he was found out!

If they found out.

The child squirmed desperately in his grasp, trying to free herself from his iron grip. He kept his one hand firmly across her mouth, and he wasn't surprised when she bit down hard, hoping to get him to release.

Ha, pathetic really. He'd suffered much deeper pain, a child's bite was hardly something to lose his head over...

"What the hell am I to do with you?"

Stopping in front of the great river, Erik paused. The child sensed his relaxation and attempted to pry herself loose once more.

Maybe it was because she had a mask on... dammit, it was probably one of his own, stolen no doubt by Christine. Though in all fairness, he hadn't expected to see a masked face staring at him. Damn, he hadn't panicked like that in years... Where was the brandy when you needed it?

"Child, stop it, or I will not hesitate to throw you into the river, with a new necklace of stones around your neck."

Her squirming ceased instantly. He slowly removed his hand from her mouth, but had her body pinned down against a tree.

"What do you think you're getting at?" The girl hissed, spitting in his face.

Erik was shocked to see that this was hardly a child; just leaving the very edges of childhood, at least. A strong spirit, as well. Yet much of her profile was hard to decipher in the darkness.

"What an insolent child you are. Pity your parents weren't able to teach you some sense!"

Though it was dark, he felt her hellish glare upon him.

"How dare you. You, the very coward who stole through mother's window and grabbed me! Are you a murderer?"

Her voice rose, unafraid. He had to admit, the girl had heart.

"Are you a thief? Were you planning on stealing mother's jewels, when I got in the way? Did you panic? Is that why I'm here now? You've been watching us, haven't you? Come to claim your prize...Only cowards and low-lives hide their faces with a mask! You pathetic, you vile–"

SMACK!

Erik landed a blow to the right side of her face, causing her to shriek with pain and crumble to the base of the tree. She lay there moaning, cradling the struck side in her hands. He felt a twinge of guilt. Honestly, he hadn't hit her _that_ hard...

"Don't speak of things you have no knowledge of, wench! You have your mother's stubbornness and lack of perception!"

The garbled answer was stifled by sobs, but confident and strong.

"You know nothing of my mother, you monster!"

He paused, seething. Apparently she didn't realize the effect of her words. Surely she hadn't been told about him, or she would have recognized him instantly by his mask. Ha, but maybe she had heard _of_ him, if not about. He struck his old, imperious manner.

"Do you know who I am, child?"

His lip curled into a smirk as she sounded unsure for the first time.

"N-no."

"I am the Pha–"

"Hello?"

Both jumped as Christine's light voice floated in the air.

"MOTHER! I'M–"

Erik roughly cut her off by cuffing her around the head. He hurriedly gathered her into his arms, and frantically began to look for a place to go.

"Damnit, damnit, DAMNIT..."

"Is somebody there?"

Out of his element, and with no trapdoors to escape through, our phantom felt his first bout oftrue desperationwell up inside him in thirteen years.

Oh well, the bush would have to do.

Abandoning all pride, he stuffed himself and the girl inside a nearby clump of bushes. He shot a glance down at her to realize she was unconscious.

_Odd, I didn't hit her nearly hard enough to knock her out..._

He frowned. Why did it matter to him?

The soft foot-fall of Christine's steps made Erik abandon his thoughts of the girl.

"Marie? Was that you?"

Mentally he was glad she was knocked out.

Realizing that the ceramic glint of his mask could give him away, Erik quickly ripped it off. Unfortunately, that made the bushes rustle.

"...hello?"

"Christine, is that you?"

Raoul's strong voice shot through Erik's senses like a gun.

_Oh bloody hell!_ _Why don't we have a nice family reunion?_

Erik could only inwardly groan as Raoul galloped onto the scene, as always on his noble white steed, which was conveniently (for all those who happened to see him out that night) and dramatically bare-back.

_Damn pansy show-off._

The young son followed behind, on a more reserved black stallion.

_Hmm, good taste._

Erik was reminded of Cesar.

"Oh Raoul, I thought I heard voices, thank goodness–"

"I saw that you and Marie were gone, and the bedroom window was open and banging! One of... _his_ masks were lying on the floor!"

Christine's hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh no, do you think _he–_"

"She's not with you then?"

"Of course not..."

Micah leaned over his saddle.

"What's going on?"

Christine spoke deliberately, if not hysterically.

"You dare to tell me that no one knows where Marie is?"

Both men looked at each other.

"You two go back to the house, and see if she comes back. She rarely ventures out...but God knows..."

"And what are you to do?"

Christine stood, trying her best to put on a brave face.

"I'm going...to visit _him_."

_Goddamn it, just say my name!_

Just as Raoul blanched, Erik felt Marie stir in his arms. He moved immediately to stifle her, but being as quick as she was beat him to it.

"MOMMA!"

Successfully forcing the girl down into the dirt, Erik recalled all his skill of ventriloquism and imitated her voice, screaming from the other direction.

"MOMMA, COME AND HELP ME!"

Erik felt Marie struggle underneath his grip, but he merely forced her face further into the grime.

Immediately Raoul helped Christine mount, and the white horse sped away in the direction of the voice, the parents calling the girl's name as they went.

Micah moved as if to follow them, but he pulled his reins back at the last second. Intuition was nagging at his senses...

He slowly and carefully dismounted, not bothering to tether the horse. He knew if he silently commanded, it would stay. He made his way slowly towards the river, gazing out across the depths.

Erik tried to subdue Marie, and resorted to striking her once more across the face. It appeared the girl had a weakness there, but it served his purpose for the time being.

Leaving her, Erik sneaked cat-like around the boy, until he was mere feet from him. His cloak was a shield of invisibility in the night. He didn't want to have to resort to killing the boy, and in front of sibling, but he was the only one who was preventing his escape.

Erik lunged at the boy's unprotected back, planning on pushing him into the river.

He was surprised when the child side-stepped and whirled around, unsheathing his sword as he spun.

Erik knew he looked a sight unmasked, his distortion probably brought into sharper relief by the moonlight. Not hesitating, he withdrew the lasso from his cloak, and was already swinging it above his head by the time the boy had entered a defensive position.

"I've heard of you, you're the phantom of the opera!"

Erik never tired of hearing himself be announced.

"Yes, and I'm sure _daddy_ has told you all about me. And as remarkable as your evasion skills and senses are, you're still a de Chagney."

The child gritted his teeth.

"He's taught me enough to make me practice, so that when I meta phantom, I can kill it!"

Perhaps it was the rage of being called an 'it' for the umpteenth time, or simply the because killing cameeasily to him. Erik lunged at the child, dodging in-between the blows of the razor-sharp sword. If the lasso was caught and sliced, he himself would have to resort to the sword. And judging by his last 'duel' with a de Chagney, that wasn't a recommended course of action.

SLASH!

The boy had ripped a large gash through Erik's cloak, which only made him angrier.

Feinting a dive left, Erik lunged right and managed to whip the noose around Micah's neck. Tightening as he went, heslammed the boy up against a tree.

He slowly tightened to rope to block his airway, and for the first time he looked directly into the face of the boy he was about to murder.

He looked the part of a damn de Chagney, at least as far as Christine's looks went. Thank God the little bastard looked nothing like Raoul...

Though he was about to kill the boy, the thought gave Erik a sick sense of satisfaction.

Then he met the eyes, and nearly lost his grip on the noose.

Electric blue, a lightning intensity, which burned with–

"A fire that cannot be quenched by your own filthy catacombs!"

Christine had hissed the very words at him thirteen years ago, when he had forced her to gaze into his misshapen face. She had only commented on his eyes.

"D-demon!" The boy rasped out.

But damn, who was he to judge! Christine's own eyes were blue...

The noose tightened, and boy's eyes closed, his energy being all thrown into breathing.

"Quick, boy. How old are you?"

He fought to answer, and Erik loosened slightly.

"Thirteen," he managed, hatred oozing out of his entire body.

Erik felt his pulse quicken.

"The girl then, she must be younger?"

He hesitated, and Erik pushed him tighter against the tree.

"None of your bus–aargh!"

Erik choked him rudely off, before quickly loosening once more.

"Her hair color. What is it?"

"Black."

_Bloody hell..._

"How old is the girl?"

He struggled, but a few more convincing tugs forced an answer out of him.

"We're twins."

His head going a million places at once, Erik found himself swirling in his thoughts. The sound of approaching hoof-beats brought him back quite fast. Damn, no where to hide this time.

"_You!_"

Erik scowled as Raoul brought the horse to a rough stop and dismounted, swiftly running towards the two and drawing his sword. Christine was staring at him open-mouth in horror.

"Make one move and the boy dies!"

Raoul froze. The tension crackled in the air like a live wire.

"Where is my daughter?"

Erik sneered, tying the boy securely to the tree as he maintained his grip.

"Don't upset me, good sir. You know too well what happens when I'm upset."

Raoul's mind temporarily flashed back to the horrors of the past... Buquet hanging, God, the opera house burning to the ground!

Erik took the distracted opportunity to move, and several things happened at once. While he sprang from the bound boy, Erik scooped up a large pebble and threw it hard into the flanks of Raoul's horse. The horse immediately whinnied in fright and began to rear, and Erik didn't pause as he ran to the bush and scooped up the still-unconscious Marie in his arms. As he raced off towards the opera house, the onlysounds he couldremember hearing were the horse whinnying, a splash, and Raoul yelling like a madman.


	3. Chapitre 3

For months she had been trapped in the recesses of her mind, and the falling from the horse felt like freedom.

Christine had never been the same since she left Erik, even after thirteen years. Especially after thirteen years.

Raoul had been a good husband, there was no denying that. He loved her and the children, and was a wonderful provider. Who could want more? Apparently she had...

As the years progressed after she left Erik, so did her depression. She knew deep in her heart, now, that she loved Erik. She also loved Raoul, but it was a different kind of love. Her love to him was strictly devotional; not the kind that made her heart yearn every time she was away from him.

That's what most people didn't understand. It's quite possible to love more than one man; in fact, it's inevitable. The challenge comes in identifying and realizing the degree of your love.

Erik...

Things had went progressively down-hill after the twins had been born. Ah, the twins! Such a cruel twist of fate... Christine thanked God that Micah looked the part of a de Chagney, even if it was only in Christine's looks. Raoul adored the boy, that much was clear. The truth would break his heart. Like mine...

But Marie...

The girl's long black hair had long haunted Christine's eyes, and her face made the former opera singer wince every time she saw it. Christine didn't mean to, but the painful memories were brought into sharper relief by every glance in the child's direction. Not only her, but the poor child's misfortune... to be disfigured like her father...

Yes, Christine was sure she was the only who knew. Marie's hair always hid her shamed face, and Raoul rarely spent time with her. Though Christine herself never volunteered for outings. She couldn't stand being near the girl without contemplating suicide.

And seeing him tonight! Christine was positive she looked like a frightened pup when she rode up with Raoul, staring at Erik who was about to kill the only son he'll ever have.

_I should tell him!_

As always, Erik had succeeded in nearly swaying my mind about him. How heartless and cruel he seemed! Then he had thrown the stone...

Christine had felt the horse rear beneath me, and she was only slightly concerned as she realized the river was directly at her back. Why should she fight? She had been fighting the demons for so long...

Raoul was yelling...

_I pray he doesn't come after me..._

Christine's thoughts were jumbled.

_The enveloping blackness is complete, and soothing. It reminds me of the night I was first seduced by Erik's music, by his darkness. I could hear Raoul's voice again as I was enveloped by the rushing waters... rushing like a melody not so long ago forgotten... a melody I gave up... but not this time. Raoul was not enough to rip me away from the music any longer. The atmosphere itself surrounds and calms me, even though I know it will kill me. How like Erik! It's too much... there's no reason to fight...I could never breathe when near him... _

_Couldn't breathe..._

_Can't breathe..._

_33333333333333_

_I can breathe again!_

Micah's body slid heavily to the ground after the phantom had dropped him. His neck was raw and burning, and he had to fight to remove the ropes. Finally sliding his fingers underneath and tugging hard, he was able to free himself.

As his head cleared, he realized his father was shouting and screaming at the river. He was furiously tearing at his clothes, and Micah had run over just in time to hold his father back.

Micah realized with horror what had to have happened.

"She's gone! _Gone!_ And it's all _his_ fault..."

Raoul had fallen to his knees, and he buried his face in his hands.

"I've lost... after thirteen years... I've still lost... and he took both of them from me..."

Trembling, Micah helped raise his father.

"F-father, I k-know this isn't g-going to be easy, b-but we have to g-get you home."

Raoul stared blankly at the ground.

"Yes, go home and get a search party... she might come up down river..."

The tears threatening to spill over his eyelids, Micah chanced one glance at the raging current of the mighty river.

"Sh-she smiled when she fell..."

Micah dropped down beside Raoul, and gently laid his hands on his shoulders.

For a moment, both son and father kneeled at the riverside. The moon reflected off its icy surface, sending a shiver down their spines.

"Come on father, let's go home."

As they rode off towards the house, he added under his breath "And you'll tell me everything you know about this damn phantom."

33333333333333333

Brandy... damn the world, where the hell was the brandy?

Scowling, Erik's gaze drifted over to the unconscious form of the girl. Marie, she had been called.

Upon returning to the lair, he had haphazardly thrown her body across the couch that had long ago housed the form of her mother. He had retreated then to his organ to gather his thoughts. Yet he dared not play; he wasn't ready for her to wake up.

"JUST GIVE ME A DAMN MASK!"

Erik jumped, accidentally hitting a few keys on his organ.

_Ah, a dissonant minor C chord..._

He inched over to the girl, making sure she was still out. As much as he hated to admit it, her tone had surprised him.

Hmm, apparently a nightmare. Honestly, how weak-minded could you be...even though the exclamation seemed quite troubling. How many times had Erik cried the same thing as a boy? No, people enjoyed mocking him far more than seeing him in peace.

His thoughts were interrupted by the something he registered on the couch where Marie lay.

Blood?

_Hell, that's my couch the wench is staining..._

But blood?

A nagging voice was inside Erik's head.

Is she hurt?

Not sure whether it was curiosity or concern, he moved close to her. Cautious, he delicately used his fingers underneath his chin to guide her face in his direction.

Erik was shocked at the mess he found. Her hair was tangled, plastered over her face. It was apparent blood from oozing from somewhere, but with her hair it was nearly impossible to determine exactly where. It wasn't much, but enough do have to do something about.

He was angry that he hadn't noticed before.

Well, he certainly couldn't leave her like this...

Erik rationalized that his care for her was simply so she wouldn't bleed all over the carpets. Those Persian rugs were expensive. Plus, the more money he spent on replacing rugs, the less he had for brandy... **Had** to have brandy...

"Son of Satan..."

He disappeared momentarily into another room, and re-emerged with salves and some pastes. He didn't know if they would help her, but they seemed to always ease the pain on his face when it burned.

His head snapped around as he heard the rustling of silk.

She was awake.

3333333333333

Pain. Blackness. Then light, slight light, and more pain. Ah, if only she could stay in this dark abyss awhile longer...

"Stop crying."

The tone of the voice made her pause, and raise her head. Her abductor was approaching her, a rag and a jar of salve in his hand. Marie buried her head down again, determined to not let him see her face, let alone touch it.

She barely registered the grand couch her body had been draped across.

"Come now, I can't treat you if you insist on hiding your face."

Marie was confused as she tried to breathe through the layers of silk pillows. This criminal was concerned?

Still woozy and aching, Marie could do little as Erik gently eased his body next to her, and carefully took her face in his hands. As her head was raised, Marie made certain her hair covered her as much as possible.

"Such long, black hair. Certainly not a gift from your mother, perchance?"

Marie winced at the venom in his voice.

"Let me see your face."

Marie wondered in her half-conscious state. What man changed mood so rapidly?

She summoned up the last bit of energy she could muster.

"No."

He ignored her, and roughly grabbed her face with both hands, quickly brushing her hair out of her face.

Marie cried out in pain, and as soon as Erik realized why he jumped back, as if his hands had been scorched by her flesh.

Marie jumped up, her hands flying to cover her face. She stumbled off the couch, desperately trying to hide herself. She tripped over the corner of a mirror, and was saved a nasty fall by Erik's arms. He was alarmed to see her crying.

_Good God, what had happened?_

Erik's thoughts were reeling.

What Creator would allow such irony to twist fate like it had? The girl, obviously Christine's, was disfigured like himself! Looking down at the sobbing child in his arms, he was instantly ashamed by his previous actions. Ashamed? The phantom was never ashamed...

Yet no wonder the blow had hurt her so much...

Erik laid her gently down on the couch again, and he noticed she was crying quietly. His one hand traveled to rest lightly on his mask, and the area underneath tingled as if remembering the pain of being struck there himself.

_The carnival...God the agony..._

The girl had seemed to crumple willingly in his arms, and Erik found himself feeling softer towards her than he had at first. Just seeing her helpless before him...relying on him... Her whimpering was like a sharp blow to his ears. Erik felt a strong surge of protection well up inside him.

Protection?

He tenderly brushed aside her hair. His eyes hesitated, taking in every inch of her face. With all that hair in the way, it was impossible to distinguish her features. With it gone, however, her features was quite prominent.

A small, yet angular nose, which tapered out to a pair of full lips. The high cheekbones were also prominent, but the black hair was the dead giveaway. Too bad her long hair had kept most from realizing she looked nothing like Christine or 'daddy'.

Daddy? Oh God! Was he a father? A real father? Was this strong spirit in front of him (one he had considered breaking with relish) his own child?

Erik's mind spun wildly to his cherished time with Christine, thirteen years ago. Before she had betrayed him. Before he had let her go.

His hands tending to Marie on auto-pilot, his thoughts strayed to one of the many times she'd willingly come to his lair.

The details were fuzzy, and he fought to remember.

Christine. Her smiling face. Her claims that she loved him, and only him!

What a fool he had been.

_I love you Erik, and I want to prove it to you._

Well, look what scientific evidence has done, Ms. de Chagney.

Though he noticed he was no longer angry at having to cater to a young girl.

_In fact,_ he thought, stroking her long hair gently,_ it's not that bad. _

But was he a father? She might be his biologically, but her heart could full well belong to Raoul.

The thought alone made Erik tear up, and he immediately chastised himself. What was he doing, thinking about having live with _him?_ A teenage girl, living in the opera house! He really was losing it...

He gaze shifted longingly towards the half-empty bottle.

Nooo.

He had to keep his wits about him, especially if Raoul sent the police after him. He did know where the lair was, but after the opera house had burned, many of the routes to the catacombs had been blocked and cut off. Erik had spent quite a bit of time building new passages. One of the old ones still existed, but he was constantly watching it for intruders. Usually in vain. After all, the phantom was just a ghost.

Ha...

A daddy ghost...

_Stop it! Stop it right now!_

How could this be? The famed phantom of the opera afraid of this child?No, that couldn't be right.

Watching her sleep, he felt a new desire come over him.

He wanted her companionship, her trust. He needed her to need him. Or he'd lose it. Again.

"I really have to stop this passing out thing..."

Erik felt himself smirk despite himself. She had his charm, after all.

Letting her go gently, he stood up and gestured around him.

"Welcome, Marie, to your new home."


	4. Chapitre 4

"Where is my father?"

The only question that had continually passed Micah's lips the past six hours since they'd returned from the watery grave, and Micah always received the same answer, accompanied by a quaint curtsy.

"Why, still in the master bedroom young sir, where he's been ever since you arrived home."

Then the dreaded question.

"Where is the vicomtess?"

This couldn't go on much longer. Micah felt the strain of the entire household upon his shoulders, and it had to stop. Grimacing, Micah set towards the two solid oak doors of his parents' bedroom, and gently pushed one open.

He peeked through, and was surprised to find the room darkened. The silhouette of his father was visible through the gloom, hunched over on the bed, head in hands, sobbing.

As Micah slowly made his way towards him, he noted the two untouched meals that lay on the night stand. Has he been here this whole time?

"Father?" He tried tentatively, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Raoul responded with a sniff, and hastily tried to wipe his eyes.

"Ah, Micah, what is it son? I'm really in–"

"You have the household in uproar, father."

Raoul waved his hand dismissively, as he reached for a handkerchief.

"I don't care. Let them all go to h–"

"They're asking where mother is."

No response.

"You haven't told them yet, father."

Raoul stared dejectedly at a spot on the opposite wall.

"No, I suppose I haven't."

Micah felt his heart swell with pity. Here lay a man completely defeated and broken. The death of Micah's mother seemed to fill his father with inconsolable grief. Micah himself wasn't too sure of his emotions, but then again he hadn't allowed time for reflection.

He missed his mother, yes, but... something wasn't right. Tears wouldn't openly flow to Micah. Then again, it could just be his instinct to stand upright while his father was hunched over.

This couldn't continue.

"Father, this man we saw tonight, the one who kidnapped Marie. The one who m-murdered mama, he was mentioned as a phantom. And tonight, all the servants have been gossiping among themselves, also about a mysterious phantom."

Raoul lifted his head, revealing blood-shot and puffy eyes.

"So you've finally won. That's it..."

"Father?"

"You finally got what you damn well wanted, and stole it right from under my nose to boot! Goddamn wretch!"

He fell down once more, sobbing.

"And you took the girl too, didn't you? And you don't even know, don't suspect. Christine didn't know I knew, but I did, even though I didn't care..."

Micah became frightened. It appeared his father was going mad.

"Ah ha, he sure fooled us, didn't he Christine? Though I suppose he lost tonight, in a way. Or did he win? You were never clear on the rules, dear Lotte. Haha..."

Micah stared as Raoul began a pleasant conversation with the nearest lampshade.

"Ha look, you're nothing but a rail now, Christine! No good proper food in that lair, I suppose..."

Micah slowly backed out of the room. No question his father had been driven to madness.

As he pushed open the doors and locked them so his father wouldn't wander out, Micah was shocked and angry to see he had knocked someone over as he exited. Someone who had clearly been eavesdropping.

Martha, the poor maid, had silver and cups scatter everywhere before the young master's wrath. She fell to her knees hurriedly trying to pick up the mess, stuttering as she went.

"P-please sir, M-martha wasn't listening, I just was passing and–"

Micah grabbed her by the arm, and she gasped at his grip. Looking around him quickly, he bent close. His face was dangerous.

"How long have you served my family?"

Shocked and frightened by this unusual behavior, Martha answered before she thought about it.

"Th-thirteen years s-sir."

Micah whirled her around, and dragged her into the nearest closet. Poor Martha was slightly hysterical at this point.

"M-madam is dead, isn't she monsieur?"

Martha could never remember being more terrified in her life. But the next words out of the young vicomte's mouth completely sobered her mind.

"Yes, and now I need you to tell me everything you know about my father, my mother, and the phantom of the opera."

Marie was immediately on the defense.

"My new home? Why do you speak this way?"

For the first time since the abduction, her mind seemed to become clear again. She surveyed the thin man in front of her, who scowled at her from behind a porcelain white mask. The features of the mask seemed to convey his entire face in a displeased, unbecoming expression.

The voice that answered was low and melodic, however, and pleasing to the ear.

"Simply because you shall live here now."

Marie felt her world go fuzzy, as a fresh wave of pain overcame her face. She would NOT pass out again. Nooo...

"Who...who are you?"

The man couldn't help but smirk.

"You have probably heard of me, no doubt, or in that case, haven't heard of me at all. I am, as many say, the phantom of the opera."

Marie was unfazed.

"Surely a phantom has a name as any other man."

His pale skin flushed.

"My name was an accident, and is never to be used! Such words of scorn to one who has been treating your pains!"

Marie was taken aback.

"Treating my pains? You _kidnapped_ me from my home, and now tell me I am to spend my life here, with a _criminal_! _Excuse me_ if I'm not _on my knees in thanks!_"

Marie instantly regretted her boldness as the man's face contorted in anger. He loomed over her, as if preparing to strike her. Then slowly, (and painfully it looked) he backed away.

He took several breaths, and stared levelly at her.

"I have just concealed my temper for the first time in 13 years. Feel privileged, Miss _de Chagney!_"

For a few moments, both stared at the other, unsure of what to say or do next.

Finally he broke the tedium.

"Something must be done with your face. Come with me."

Marie's hands flew protectively upwards.

"No."

She could tell he was growing impatient again.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before."

She winced at the painful recollection of his touch, the look in his eyes.

"Come."

Gritting her teeth, she allowed him to pick her up and carry her. Fully conscious, Marie was able to take in her surroundings. A cave, it seemed. A lavish cave, bedecked with exquisite rugs and furniture, but nothing so exquisite as the organ that sat in the corner. Hmm, there did seem to be an abundance of empty brandy bottles around.

Remembering her longing to play the grand piano back at home, and the angry outbursts of her father when she had even glanced near it, Marie's eyes flashed hopefully.

The phantom seemed amused.

"You play, do you?"

He caught her off-guard.

"No, but I've always wanted to. Father burned our piano. I don't know why."

She caught a murderous look in his eyes.

"Music is only there in life to help humans and their suffering; some humans would be better off burned than the instruments."

Marie reflected on this truth, and found herself agreeing.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the edge of the lake; you need washed up."

A stab of panic went through Marie's body as they came to the threshold of an enormous underground lake. A small gondola was docked nearby.

"Leave me, I can do it myself."

He arched an eyebrow, amused.

"Really? Somehow I don't think you'll be doing anything on your own for awhile. You're pretty banged up."

Was that regret in his eyes?

Setting her down gently on the bank he reached into his long cloak for a rag. Drawing himself up, he offered it to her.

"I understand a young girl's modesty, so I'll allow you to care to yourself as you see fit. When you're finished, I have many salves and pastes that will more than likely ease the pain on your face. Come to me when you're ready."

He turned and felt startled for some reason, but stopped at the sound of her voice.

"Wait! I still have questions. Who are you, exactly? Why do you live here? Why did you kid–"

"Enough!" Was the curt reply, harsh enough to cut her off. He sighed upon seeing her fright, and addressed her more calmly. "There's plenty of time for talk after you've taken care of yourself. I've seen what infection to a face wound can do."

Making Marie wonder, Erik retired back into his lair, seating himself at the organ. He smiled contentedly as the ivory keys met his fingertips. He wiggled slightly as he always did, getting his bottom into just the right position upon the bench.

He felt her eyes upon him.

"Yes?"

She glared determinedly at him. Then he realized what was bothering her.

"Oh come now, I'm hardly going to observe you bathing. I may be a phantom, but I'm still a gentleman!"

"Man is part of 'gentleman', you know."

He smiled cryptically.

"Do you always proudly show your spelling skills to strangers?"

Her eyes blazed, and he felt himself smile. So easily roused, like himself...

"Fine. If it bothers you, I shall be in the room next door, arranging things for you."

Sighing inwardly and rolling his eyes, Erik left the peace of the organ and wandered into the room that had been Christine's, but would now be Marie's. True enough, he did have some work to do in the dusty old thing. Rolling up his sleeves, he began to work. First off, all the brandy bottles had to go. He gulped. Yes, all of them.

_Women!_ He thought exasperatedly.

Yet he noticed he didn't quite mind at all. Yet what was it that he had said to her, something that caused him to start?

"_Come to me when you're ready." _

_Come to me..._

Fighting off the waves of emotion, he plunged into his work.

"Angel of music..."

An hour later, Micah had emerged from the closet just as red-eyed as his father had been. The maid followed meekly behind, not wanting but being forced to retell everything (rumor or fact) about the story of the phantom of the opera, and how Christine and Raoul played a part in it. Martha felt miserable.

"Martha?"

She jumped.

"Assemble the household. I must tell them of mother's death, and organize a search party for her body at the very least. Then I have...some personal matters to attend to."

The servant nodded, and briskly left with a swish of her skirts.

Micah fell back against the wall, sliding down it slowly, and letting the cold wood soothe his feverish body. He was thirteen; hardly a child, but certainly no one who should have to unexpectedly take charge of an entire household.

Yes, Micah de Chagney had much work to do before he began work on his ultimate goal. Gritting his teeth, he firmly made the decision.

Crossing the hallway, he peeked once more into his father's bedroom. He crept into the room, relieved to find that his father had gone to bed. At least still had most control of his mind...

Micah couldn't help but stifle tears as he neared the bed. His father lay stretched out, sleeping but still crying. He frequently sobbed, and with a heart-wrenching glance Micah saw that his father had placed a picture of Christine on the pillow next to him.

Slowly Micah backed out of the room.

There was much to do. Much. Arrangements for mother. Care for father. Consolement of the household. Yet when that was done, the real work and challenge began.

Micah locked to door behind him, fighting the tears and feeling the burning vengeance kindle within him.

"I swear you to father, I'll hunt down the phantom of the opera and kill him, in your name. I'll kill this beast who's destroyed your soul. Either he dies, or I die trying to kill him. Marie will return, if not already raped or dead if what Martha says is true. This I swear."


	5. Chapitre 5

Marie had finished, and was busy drying her hair with the bottom hem of her dress. Not an easy maneuver in itself. She has paused, however, when a beautiful sound reached her ears.

"Turn your face away, from the garish light of day..."

Was that...him? The phantom? He was..._singing?_

"Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light..."

Marie silently adjusted all her clothing, and crept cat-like towards the room he had disappeared into.

"And listen to the music of the night..."

She marveled at him; such beauty, such magnificence! Who sang with such passion? He twirled about the room, seemingly lost in a trance as he arranged things here and there. Was this... happiness? He didn't seem like one to suddenly jump up and begin to sing. Yet it wasn't a happy song...

"Close your eyes, start a journey to a strange new world, leave all thoughts of the world you knew before..."

Marie couldn't help it, she inched closer towards him, until she was stalking him from mere feet away. She closed her eyes.

"Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar!"

She felt her heart race in pleasure as the pure spirit of the song swelled inside her.

She was unaware of her actions.

"And you'll live, as you've never lived before..."

He turned sharply at her voice, which had delicately teased the lyrics from his lips before he could sing them.

She thought he would be angry; rather, he smiled at her, and took her fingertips in his gloved ones. His eyes were full of pleading, of a yearning for someone to watch over.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication... Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation..."

She jumped in, eager and ready with her answer.

"Let the dream begin, let your darkest side give in, to the power of the music that you write..."

Together daughter and father wound a melodious duet.

"The darkness of the music of the night..."

Marie broke off the note first, blushing and looking down. He smiled at her.

"Very good. It needs work, however. I'm surprised your mother would sing that to you."

Marie jerked.

"Mother never sang to me... in fact, she never sang at all. Could she sing? I mean, mostly she left us to ourselves..."

Erik felt his heart plummet. Christine's music had died. Well, perhaps one day he could teach again... but for now, there was the matter of the seemingly-gifted child before him. Yet something bothered him. How had she known that song?

"You said you've never played before?"

She blushed again. Such fair skin. Erik found himself mentally grinning at the passed-down trait.

"No. But I want to learn."

"Soon you will learn. But for now, I want to show you this room."

Marie let her eyes take in the spectacle. The same glorious furnishings as out in the lair graced the room, from the delicate Persian rugs to the softly-draped swan bed. The most magnificent part of the room was the small chandelier that sparkled in the center of the ceiling. Marie caught her breath.

"It's... beautiful!"

Erik smiled.

"I"m glad you like it. It's yours now."

Marie was speechless.

"M-mine?"

"Well, you pretty much just communicated with me that you'd like to stay..."

He felt slightly uneasy. Odd, quite uncharacteristic.

Marie paused, noting his discomfort.

"Well, I suppose... yes, I did. I mean, there's really no reason to return..."

His eyes gleamed.

"..at least not right away. I mean, I've wanted to learn music all my life, and you seem like you'd be a good teacher. You sing... very well."

He chuckled.

"Sorry, I couldn't find the rights words. Very well does not do you justice. Let's see... like an angel! Yes, like an angel of music!"

She laughed, not noticing the ebb of color from his face.

"Where did you learn my song?"

He couldn't help the biting edge to his voice.

Marie was taken aback.

"I...never heard it before, to be honest. I just listened to you sing the few lines, and that phrase sounded like it would fit. I mean, the lyrics just kind of came to me. Like..."

He finished for her.

"Like it had to be?"

She smiled.

"Yes."

He persisted.

"I want to see you on my organ, so I can prove my suspicions right or wrong."

Marie frowned slightly.

"What suspicions?"

Behind the mask, he smirked slightly.

"Never mind that now, hop over there. Get to it!"

Scattering like a naughty toddler, she hastened over to the wooden masterpiece, pausing by its cedar side.

He stood where she had left him.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Sit down!"

Hesitantly she climbed onto the bench, and Erik almost laughed at the familiar comical way with which she situated herself, wriggling her bottom to get into just the right spot. Perhaps he was right after all.

Her fingers hovered over the ivory keys.

"Now what am I to do?"

He thought for a moment. This was much different than teaching Christine to sing.

"Well... think about what we just sang."

Obediently she wrinkled her brown in thought.

Erik followed suit. How to teach? Prodigies weren't use to breaking down such refined-techniques to pass on to a younger breed... could he do this? His thoughts were broken with the striking of a chord. The first chord of Music of the Night! Incredible!

At hearing the harsh tones, Marie stopped immediately and drew back her hands. She turned to Erik worriedly.

"What? That was correct! The first chord of the song. Remarkable! And you've said you've never played before..."

She smiled nervously, obviously pleased with his praise. But her mind was racing. Chord? What was that? And it sure didn't sound right...

"It doesn't sound right because the song is not meant for an organ. The instrument is much too harsh. More for a piano, which is why I usually sing it acapella."

He noticed her nervous glance.

"Ah, that's right. A chord is a collection of particular notes that make a particular sound when played. Acapella means 'to sing by one's self, without the accompaniment of any music."

"Oh, ok."

Erik sighed.

"I see there's much work to be done."

She looked down apolgetically.

Gently he moved towards her, and lifted her chin with his fingertips.

"Work that I am honored and happy to give. You have all the combined talent of mother and father in you."

Briskly moving behind the organ, he pulled out an old violin case.

"Well, this certainly makes a change. Since you're on the organ, I'll go along with voice and violin. You'll carry on with voice, as well. Give me a minute, it's been ages since this thing has been tuned..."

He could tell she was lost again.

Ah well.

"There we go. All tuned. Hmm, you have no idea how strange this is to me. No one besides myself has ever played the organ. I've never been the one standing next to it. Now, I suppose first things first. Concert A, if you please."

"C-concert what?"

Mentally he smacked himself. He definitely was not used to this.

"Alright, I forgot. You must first learn the notes on the keys. They range A-G, and then repeat themselves over. Those are the white keys."

He quickly played her a simple C scale.

"Now you try."

She immediately mimicked his movements, even down to the thumb and finger cross needed in order to reach all 8 keys with one hand.

"Very good! Now, see the black keys? Quite a different flavor of their own..."

Passionate and excited, he dove relentlessly into his teaching. It was going to be a long day, and perhaps night as well!

The music played on...

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"Step, two, three! Thrust! Back, spread the feet more, balance is key! Now parry! There, nearly there monsieur!"

Micah laid down his sword, panting, as he wiped a sleeve across his sweaty forehead. His instructor, Monsieur Creole, also looked quite the worse for wear.

"I must say, lad, ever since this bad turn of events you've really thrown yourself into your fighting. I understand distractions can help the grieving immensely, but do remember not to overwork yourself."

Micah nodded, his hands on his knees. Ha, if only the household knew the real reason he was quickly becoming the best swordsman in France...

The funeral had been held three weeks ago, when Christine's body had finally been found. Raoul had to be carted away during the service, when he broke out into hysterics and started attacking the baker in a black cloak in front of him. The broken man was now in the institution, and Raoul visited him every day, hoping for improvement. There was none.

Haunted by the peaceful smile that refused to leave his mother's face, Micah threw himself into his swordplay.

He was now the Vicounte de Chagney, and all knew it. Most had heard rumors of the current de Chagney's 'indisposition' as many polite relatives called it, and most now recognized him as the proper heir and titleholder. Not that the young thirteen-year old needed anymore pressure. Many thought he was wise beyond his years and respectful; however, such a front was encouraged by the burning desire for vengeance within. He was literally alone now; no real father, dead mother, and missing sister.

Ah Marie!

Micah now regretted that he had never gotten to know her well; he was always with father. She might be the only family left.

This revelation made him only more determined to hunt down the phantom, and rescue her. That is, if she still lived. By gathering more maid-gossip and rumors from others, he even knew where the beast may live.

"The opera house, ha! Not a very smart ghost, is he?"

Micah swished his blade through the air once more, growing more confident in his abilities. A few more weeks should do that trick.

"Then, my phantom, we'll see who has the last laugh!"


	6. Chapitre 6

In all 5 chapters, (or Chaptires, as the French say!) I don't believe I've had any author's notes. Here's some!

Thanks to some of my consistent readers, I really appreciate my story being stalked:-D The winner so far is LostS. Thanks for the constant support! Just as a note here, the song Marie's singing is something composed briefly by me, and not stolen from anyone. Thankies, and on with the madness! Oh yes, for all guys who read this: beware, girlie stuff a little bit in.

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"Beauty is as beauty does

Fly swift aside the moon,

The rose cries out

To the dandelion

As the shadow 'ere loo-"

A dissonant note was hit on the keyboard as Erik stopped Marie.

"No, no! Nearly, but no. Again."

From her wearied position on the bench, Marie quickly flexed her fingers and parted her lips.

"The rose cries out

To the dandelion,

As the shadow 'ere looms,

One last night amid the stars,

In a twinkling abyss of doo-"

"Stop."

Marie slouched back and sighed.

"No no, it's just not right! You have to, get more emotion behind it! More feeling! More… passion! Like… oh I don't know how to explain it!"

He was angry again; not the first time he had been after since they'd started working. Every day, and sometimes in the night too. He was relentless and driving, but Marie didn't mind.

Her imagination starved for more as she learned, and she felt like a starving beggar being fed a great Christmas dinner. She never questioned him. Not even about his mysterious mask, or why his mother had one as well. Or even why she'd been kidnapped. No, none of these thoughts longer occupied her mind. Though in truth, she hadn't exactly had time to dwell upon it. Her Phantom pushed her hard.

She turned his gaze to him, as he sat next to the organ in his chair, mussing his hair in disgruntled thought.

"I'm sorry…" Marie ventured.

He lifted his eyes. There! That rare twinkle.

"It's not your fault, Marie. I'm simply not use to teaching literally _everything_ I know. Singing is one aspect. Playing, singing, and composing is quite another."

"Composing? But we haven't started composing."

"Ah, but we shall soon."

"What makes you think I'm able?"

He gave a sigh, and looked her square in the eyes.

"Can you not see it by now?"

She tilted her head to the side.

"What do you mean?"

A sudden realization made Erik freeze.

"Has your mother never told you about her youth?"

Marie solemnly shook her head.

"Oh dear…"

He sighed, and reached out to her with his hand. Glad for a rest, she accepted his gloved hand and followed as he led her over to the couch. They both sat down.

"Marie, I don't know if anyone told you, but your mother was a great performer in her younger days."

Marie's eyes went wide in wonder and awe.

"Was she good, mama?"

Erik smiled, despite himself.

"The very best! She wasn't always that way, though. She had to take lessons, just like you are now. But a teacher saw that she had great talent, and helped to shape and mold it, until she became the best singer in the opera house!" He gestured around him.

Marie blanched.

"Oh, so that's where we are."

Erik look startled.

"You didn't know that?"

"Well, I was hardly in a condition to sight-see when you brought me here."

There was that regret in his eyes again.

"Ah…right."

Something still bothered him.

"But why haven't you asked me about it? Haven't you wondered where you are? Means of escape? There are ways, you know…"

Her sudden grin made him stop.

"I've been happy here."

Silence.

"You've been happy? Here? With me?"

The smile again.

"Of course! You're such a wonderful person when you're not angry. Though I think it strange you wear a mask when it's only me, I don't find it odd at all…" She trailed off.

"I suppose sometimes you wish you'd had a mask yourself."

It was the first time since the night he had tended to her that either one of them had mentioned her face.

She paused.

"Yes… I suppose there were times. When f-father was out with Micah, and mother had gone off again. No one really paid me any attention, and I didn't like how strangers looked at me, so I stayed home mostly."

She had tried to hide her bitterness. But that wasn't what caught his attention.

"You hesitated on the word father."

She looked highly uncomfortable now.

"It's just… he's a wonderful man and all, but he never really was a father to me. Actually, he always seemed afraid when he looked at me, like I was going to just jump out at him from the dark!"

Tactfully, Erik switched gears.

"Your brother. While you were uh, knocked out, he told me you were twins. What's he like?"

Marie wrinkled her eyebrows.

"When has Micah talked to you?"

"Um… I sort of had him in my Punjab up against a tree. That is until your _father_ came along…" He couldn't help it; the vehemence was there regardless of his restraint.

"Punjab? What's that?"

"Ah, my lasso." He undid the slender rope from about his waist.

"And you do what with it?"

"You throw it, and, err, put it around the neck, and, um…"

"Choke someone. To death."

"…usually."

"So you're telling me you almost murdered my brother."

His old anger was beginning to resurface.

"_Yes, my dear_."

She hissed at him, standing up.

"I'm no dear of yours!"

Despite himself, he stood as well.

"I might know more you than you think, mademoiselle!"

She angrily turned away.

"So is that it? You killed my brother then? What about father? And mother?"

He growled, using every bit of energy he possessed to not strike the girl.

"Your debonair _father_ came along before I could finish off the boy, if you must know. After that, I have no idea to the whereabouts of your precious_ family_."

He whirled around, fully prepared to stalk off above ground awhile, to cool his head. She wasn't done, however.

"Yet you obviously know something more! You just began to tell me about my mother, when she was young, but look where it got us! Arguing like children!" She stopped.

"Face me!" she screamed at his back.

"Talk to me! Don't hide, I don't hide, I can't hide! I don't have the cowardice luxury that comes with a porcelain mask!"

He turned sharply, and before Marie could collect her breath, he smacked her hard across her face.

Reeling and seeing stars, Marie crumpled on her knees as she held her face in her hands. She dared not look at him as she gingerly felt her stinging cheeks.

"And be lucky it wasn't on the right side."

The phantom's voice was cold.

Marie began to softly sob from her chilly spot on the rock floor, continuing to cradle her face in her arms. She heard his footsteps retreat, and then nothing.

Had he left?

Daring a peek underneath her arm, Marie saw that she was apparently alone.

"P-Phantom, are you there?"

No answer. Merely the ever-present sound of dripping water onto rock.

"Please? Are you there?"

Once again, nothing.

Then Marie suddenly felt a sharp pain stab through her gut. Crying out, she bent over, doubled, as the pain seemed to travel up her body and wrack her small frame.

"Help…" she whispered, the tears squeezing out from the corners of her eyes.

Right before another wave of pain ripped through her, Marie felt a wetness between her legs underneath the folds of dress.

As the fabric of her skirt started to become stained red with blood, Marie felt the pain taking out her conscience.

"Phantom!" She screamed hysterically. "Help me! _Help me!_"

Sobbing uncontrollably, she laid down completely on the stone floor, where the blackness overtook her.

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Micah was almost ready.

He stood outside the threshold of the shell of what was once the great opera house. The charred infrastructure was still visible, and bits of pieces of artifacts could be seen through the gaps; a scrap of red velvet fabric that had once lined the seats, a broken pair of glasses, the blackened corpse of what could have only been a woman's satin glove. All were artifacts of an age now gone.

He checked his side once more, checking to make certain his sword was still in position and ready for use. It was.

Micah was a thirteen-year old boy, one who was being forcibly pushed over the brink of childhood into the rough water of being an adult. He was frightened, sure; anyone who wouldn't be frightened in his situation was a mere fool. Micah was convinced he wasn't a fool.

This phantom… what a different story! How many times had his father passed the opera house on his horse with Micah, rushing past and refusing to glance at him? Micah felt slightly ashamed at not making the connection before. Of course Raoul would shun the burned opera house; he almost lost the love of his life, Christine, to a madman in the catacombs.

Yet it appeared the madman had finally won.

However, Micah wished his purpose was crystal clear, rather than foggy.

While the stories of the madman who murdered in the depths of his catacombs ruled his conscience, Micah tried hard to forget the other stories that the young maids had gossiped about.

"_Oh the Phantom!" _They had giggled. _"Yes, madam was quite in love you know… oh, he taught her to sing, you know! He would sing her to sleep in his dark lair…"_ Then came that sad sigh, the one only the feminine have seemed to master.

"_Dark seducer! That's all that man was… yes was, I doubt if the man still lives…" _

The opinions of all had been different, and Micah wasn't even sure if the truth was there, hidden among all the twisted perceptions and memories.

"_Ah, she called him her angel of music!"_

"_Demon… a murderous demon!"_

"_Ha yes, her protector…" _

"_Angel of Death!" _

"_Guardian…" _

"_Madman!"_

Micah shook his head vigorously. The inward battles, they kept coming more frequently. If he didn't get a-hold of himself soon he'd end up sharing a room with his father.

His father…

Micah set his face in a determined expression. Emotion could not be allowed to play a part in this story.

And so determined to find his sister, dead or alive, Micah started digging through some of the rubble, searching for a way in.

Just as Erik was about to go out.

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	7. Chapitre 7

Sepia Mortis: Thank you so much for you kind review. My answer is as follows:

Christine never hated Erik. There might have been resentment, and temporary loathing for the decision he made her make, but as you said, true love does concur all. As far as this story goes, she realizes the mistake she made 13 years ago, and she truly regrets not being there with the phantom. Perhaps, however, while she still loves Raoul, her true agony lies in keeping her children from Erik.

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Erik pillaged his way through the forgotten passages, shoving roughly aside anything that impeded his way. He was furious, enraged! And the worst part was that he felt all this hatred towards himself! What kind of monster was he? He struck a child, a mere child...and only out of anger, at that. A reason which was no reason at all... an older man's pride...

Gritting his teeth, Erik started to feel the age in his bones as he made his way above the catacombs he had inhabited for so long, and into the opera house itself. Briefly pausing at familiar places, Erik stopped at one spot and let his hand gently rest on the dusty, fading tapestry that covered the wall.

"Christine..."

The short-lived prima donna's dressing room lay relatively untouched and undamaged through the fire and the years. Erik himself had seen to most of that when he blocked off all the entries.

Breathing in the musty reminders of better? times, Erik let himself dream for awhile, before removing his hand to his side, where it balled up into a fist. Then, quite suddenly, Christine's loving gaze faded, and a new force emerged from the depths of his thoughts powerfully.

Marie.

This seemingly simple child, so unrefined yet full of possibilities. A visible, tangible reminder of mistakes, triumphs... the past.

"What makes you think I'm able?"

"Can you not see it by now?"

Erik felt a hot surge of anger at Christine for keeping him (or at least the truth!) away from Marie all these years. And the child... Children? Yet he instantly felt ashamed. It wasn't Christine's fault. None of this was. It was his.

He had now come to a trapdoor, which he knew lead up the side of the opera house and out to the street. Erik grimaced at the bright rays of sunlight that fought through the cracks around the door. Sunlight never did suit him.

Sneaking cat-like into the day, Erik was just adjusting his cape and mask when a noise caught his attention.

"Hmm.." he pondered. "I wonder what that could be."

Peeking around the corner of what was left of the foundation, our phantom was very surprised indeed when he saw young Micah haphazardly digging through the opera house rubble.

What did he expect to find?

Erik watched him with scathing interest. Anyone observing would proudly declare the de Chagney boy working hard in front of him. Christine's curling brown locks were plastered by sweat on his small forehead, which supported a rounded nose and also Christine's full lips. Even her almond-shaped eyes glared furiously through the ash as those delicate hands worked tirelessly.

Erik's eyes narrowed. It seemed that fate put all of its mockery and his own failings into the boy who stood in front of him.

His old anger was resurfacing, but he took care to keep it in check. He didn't need it now.

"But what is he doing?"

Erik didn't much care why the boy was here, but he was bent on perhaps having a bit of fun with him...

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Micah paused for a moment, sinking down against the half-charred remains of a box seat. He was panting from his exertion, the sweat cascading through his damp hair. Pulling at his buttons, he flung off his jacket and stood in his loose undershirt. His sword remained at his side.

"I don't understand... all the rumors, all the gossip... he has to be here, and there has to be a way in..."

From his perch in a nearby tree, Erik laughed to himself. So that's why the little bastard wanted in! He wanted to save his sister, no doubt. How disgustingly like Raoul... where was the white, bareback horse?

Feeling a strong surge of protection, Erik decided that Micah wasn't getting Marie back.

So then, Micah was startled when a small voice rang in his ear, taunting softly.

"I'm here, the phantom of the opera..."

In a fluid movement Micah had unsheathed his sword, spun around in a full circle, and ended standing in a perfect defensive position. Anything that had been standing near him at any angle would have been instantly hit.

"Monsieur le phantom! Show yourself!"

Despite himself, Erik was impressed. However, his loathing of the boy was only increased, and Erik's longing to put out the determination in the boy's face only burned harder. And so it was, Erik clung to the branches, the foliage hiding him from view while he glared at Micah, who was angrily scanning his surroundings. So tense was this situation that it was quite a shock when the ground beneath Micah suddenly opened up and swallowed him.

Micah cried out as the rotting wooden floorboard underneath him had finally given way under his weight. Erik raised his head a few inches above a nasty bout of leaves in order to see better, and he furrowed his brow.

"Great, so the brat has found a way into my opera house after all..."

Making a mental note to block that particular entrance in the future, Erik began to descend the tree. He was half-way over to the hole to investigate it when a sight greeted his eyes that made him stop completely.

Hands were desperately grasping the splintered, sharpened edges of the hole, clinging on to the sides. Micah's face appeared bloody and dirty above the hole as his muscles strained to push up his body weight, ignoring the wood that was piercing his flesh as he tried to do so. When he lifted his face and saw Erik, he froze immediately.

"You."

Erik swished back his cape and smirked, kneeling beside the hole where the boy still struggled to hold on.

"Ah, monsieur, we meet again. A pity our circumstances are never pleasant."

Micah's face turned red as his anger burned straight from his heart to his eyes. Erik felt his body start as the familiarity of those electric blue irises burned into his. Reminding him, taunting him. This child of Raoul's was his... the honed skills, the agility, the survival instinct... the strength.

"Where is my sister?"

Erik sat back on his heels, in a mock gesture of thought.

"Oh, Marie? Is that the little wench's name?"

For the first time, Erik felt uncomfortable with what had come out of his mouth. Though he did quite enjoy the sight of Micah's brutal anger, and his inability to do anything about it due to his need to continue to grasp the edges of the gap. It was apparent he was losing hold fast, though.

"You bastard! You, the one who drove my father to insanity, and murder–"

CRACK!

A vital piece of wood ripped away, and Erik was fully prepared to see Micah fall. Yet to his great amazement, the boy managed to stay up by holding on with his one arm. Very impressive indeed, Erik thought. Not something he thought Raoul would ever be capable of...

"You ignorant boy, go home to _le vicomte!_"

A vein was beginning to pop in Micah's forehead from the exertion of holding his body weight up, but the venom in his voice was stable and poisonous.

"Monster, I _am_ the vicomte now. And if mother were still al–"

Enraged at being called a monster, Erik had reached out and kicked at the wood, shattering the remaining shards and plunging Micah indefinitely into the deeper bowels of the opera house. It was also at that precise moment that an unearthly scream reached both of their ears.

Marie!

"PHANTOM!"


	8. Chapitre 8

Remember honorable reviewers, all questions shall be answered in good time. ;-)

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Not even pausing to consider his actions, (quite a first for our phantom) Erik leapt down into the splintered opening. Landing lightly on all fours, Erik felt his reflexes and skills return in the dark, despite the slight ache he felt in his knees, just another reminder that he wasn't getting younger.

TWACK!

Erik grunted slightly but allowed no cry to escape him as Micah's sword slashed his side. Backing up slightly, Erik threw his cape around his body, and felt it fall on Micah's head, catching him. Giving it a mighty yank, Erik sent Micah spinning off in the semi-darkness and slamming him against a wall. Erik gritted his teeth and clutched at the wound with one hand, watching as Micah painfully stood and staggered towards him once more. Erik, caught quite unarmed, hurriedly looked left and right.

They were in one of passages… the one that lead from Christine's dressing room to the lake! That meant that a certain passage….

Erik was about to move towards that certain passage when SLASH! Micah had unsheathed a long dagger and thrown it into Erik cloak, effectively pinning the phantom against the wall.

"I will not let you return to her."

Surprised and angry at being trapped in his own domain, Erik's furiousity was only heightened by Micah's words.

His sword was now poised across Erik's chest, and was resting lightly yet firmly with the blade turned into Erik's neck.

"I will search these filthy catacombs the rest of life to find her if need be."

Erik thought that this was the appropriate time for a witty comeback, but opportunity struck him harder than the irony.

When Micah turned away, (firmly believing that Erik was completely and properly subdued) Erik took the opportunity to kick at the wall behind him, where he knew the secret passage resided. The force of his weight against the stone pushed him behind the wall, while at the same time the counterbalance made the stone bracket hanging on the wall swing out and strike Micah on the head.

Being twirled into another room, Erik took a moment to breathe, then unlatched his cape. Severely disgruntled at having a slash in his best cape, Erik pulled out the dagger and pocketed it. He move the wall back slightly, allowing him a peek at the passage. Micah was out cold. Good.

Marie!

The reason for his careless jump into the hole resurfaced, and he immediately cursed himself for taking so long to begin with. However, he didn't leave. He was torn between the boy on the floor and girl he knew was inside the lair. Wait, what?

Another scream ripped fresh through the air.

"To hell with the world, when this is over, I'm getting brandy."

Gritting his teeth, Erik raced back into the passage, scooped Micah up in his arms, and hurtled off down the passage way towards the lair.

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"Monsieur le vicomte?"

The nurse hesitantly knocked on the half-open door, the stories of Raoul de Chagney's tantrums fresh in her ears. She had drawn the short straw for the duty of bringing him his lunch.

Hearing no answer from inside the darkened room, the woman slowly pushed open the door.

"Monsieur, are you here? Ah—!"

The maid gasped and choked as Raould's strong hand encircled her neck and dragged her further into the room.

Seeing she was just unconscious, Raoul released his grip and her limp body fell to the floor like a rag-doll. He was breathing heavy, and he stared at his hands, as if in disbelief at his own actions. Yet thinking back, he had no choice. Shunted aside, shut up in a mental ward, no one had been able to understand his incoherent words. Of course there was pity; too much pity. Raoul could never stand the emotion.

His life had been shattered when Christine had plummeted from that horse and into the icy arms of the river. Yet, even the shattered piece of life can be picked up if they're still bonded together by the will, the soul, the love…

She hadn't even called out for help, hadn't reached out to grasp his hands or the horse's reins. Wanting to fall, happily wishing and welcoming the life of death…

Raoul himself was no more. What remained was a broken, cold-hearted man, bent on a purpose that was yet to be revealed. Ah, but it was. All the pain, all the suffering… all Raoul had wanted was to be content, and live with his loved ones. Ha, loved ones!

The phantom had thought of everything before allowing Raoul to leave the lair. Even his loved ones weren't his own.

That was it!

That was it… The phantom! He had caused all this misery, ruined all those lives… how many more would be struck down by the monster before he stopped? How many? He had to be stopped, something had to be done!

But what?

Raoul scrambled desperately for a solution. Micah wouldn't help, Raoul shamefully admitted. He, the very son who locked Raoul away could never believe the words coming from his lips! Raoul stood, and climbed over towards the window. He would strike down this phantom, and everything that had to do with him!

Everything!

Anything…

"Ha ha, what do you say to that, Christine?"

Getting no reply from the maid's limp body, Raoul smirked to himself and put one leg out over the windowsill.

"Oh and I won't do it alone…no monsieur!"

Grinning manically, Raoul leaped from his bedroom window and out into freedom. He leaped; from his second story window.

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Erik had raced through the underground at breakneck speed, despite the extra wight in his arms and the strain on his knees. He saw nothing but Marie's black hair, so much like his own, and heard nothing but her terrified cries, which had ceased for the time beings. Her lack of cries scared him, as opposed to the cries themselves. He pushed himself even harder to reach the lake. He couldn't imagine his life if something had happened to Marie!

His child… his…daughter.

Erik was momentarily startled when Micah stirred in his arms, groaning slightly before falling back into unconsciousness once more.

Erik admitted to himself that he wasn't sure of his feelings over the boy.. Then again, in all fairness, he hadn't let himself examine his emotions. Erik felt a competitive loathing for the boy, yet such a dislike was based on the fact that Erik viewed Micah as a threat, one that could tear Marie and himself apart.

Micah had stated that he and Marie were twins, and they both looked the same age. Yet how different they seemed! Or merely appeared… Erik realized his feelings of contempt were incredibly shallow and unfounded. He was but a boy! But his boy?

Erik's grip around Micah tightened slightly. When he thought about it, Erik was forced to admit that the boy was only acting rashly to protect the ones he loved. Not something Erik was unfamiliar with…

And the honed reflexes, the incredible agility! The stealth and silent power, surely not from Raoul! Raoul's skill at the sword was impressive, yes, but he had been in his prime in the graveyard, and Erik ahdn't lifted a sword fro seven years, since he'd come to the opera house from Persia. Not to mention that his sword had been bent after jumping off the tomb edge…no wonder Raoul had won.

But Micah…his skill seemed insurpassable!

Adjusting Micah's position in his arms for a better grasp, Erik felt an odd lump in Micah's trouser pocket. Pausing slightly, Erik fished out the article with one hand, and was surprised to pull out a folded up square of black fabric. Smiling, Erik gazed at the fine black cape that he held, reveling in its quality and texture. It had a full hood also, with deep-laying pockets.

So entranced in his thoughts, Erik neglected to notice that he had already traveled across the lake and into the lair itself. Such then was his surprise when Madame Giry's strict voice picked him up out of his thoughts.

"Erik?"

Erik stood there, shocked, as Madame Giry was bent over the unconscious and bloodied form of Marie. Her old eyes traveled up and down Erik's frame, coming to rest of the figure he held cloaked and covered in his arms.

"Who is that?"

Not for the first time recently, Erik found himself unable to articulate words. He gulped once, twice, then cleared his throat.

"This…this is my son."


	9. Chapitre 9

Carefully setting Micah down on a couch, Erik rushed over to where Madame Giry kneeled, supporting Marie.

"I was in the ballerina dormitories, and I—"

She stopped at the confused look on Erik's face.

"Don not think so highly of yourself monsieur, that you think you are the only one who can find ways inside the be able to pass unnoticed! Even after 13 years."

The authority in her voice made Erik feel like a naughty youngster.

"Anyway," she continued, more gently, "I was simply making my rounds, and reminiscing on the glory days of the opera… I do this occasionally. Then I heard a scream! I knew immediately it was from your lair, where else could anyone be in this rubble? I thought for sure a neighborhood girl had been wondering, and gotten trapped inside, but when I saw…"

Here she trailed off, refusing to look at Erik.

"But what's wrong with her? Why's she bleeding?"

Erik was in no mood to hear stories, and reached out towards Marie's bloody skirts. His hand was stopped by Madame Giry's. Erik looked at her quizzically, and she did something he least expected at a time like this; she smiled.

"Erik, you've never lived with women, so you wouldn't understand. Judging by how frightened the girl made herself, she doesn't either."

Erik was nearly delirious with anxiety.

"Erik, Marie has just experienced the first of her monthly curses."

Erik's eyes widened. To him, that seemed almost worse than being skewered by a sword.

"What? You mean…?"

Madame Giry's expression became alarmed.

"Erik! You're wounded!"

His imperious nature returning, Erik scowled and wrapped his cloak tightly around his body. Madame Giry glared at him, her bony hands on her bony hips.

"Erik, stop it this instant. You're acting like a child!"

Both their gazes fell on the two children in question.

"Come, help me with the girl, and once I tend to her I'll have a look at you."

"Marie."

"What?"

"Her name's Marie. My daughter."

"Your daugh--…your son?"

For the first time, her eyes regarded Micah. She was clearly distressed.

"The vicomte! Oh Erik!"

Erik pressed his cloak tighter to his side, trying to staunch the bleeding. The knowing pain didn't help matters any.

"Tend to Micah next," Erik ordered through gritted teeth. "he was knocked out. Only come to me when you're done with them…"

Madame Giry's skeptical eyes could plainly see that the children weren't in danger compared to Erik's heavy bleeding, but the authority in his eyes was final.

"Alright, Erik."

As Erik picked Marie up in order to place her properly in position for Madame Giry, he couldn't help but stroke her hair and begin to hum softly. Looking at her pale face, he realized that he would do anything for her. Anything. Everything.

"Erik, please."

Erik looked away apogetically, and moved to allow Madame Giry room. He slowly approached the couch which housed the figure of Micah. His…son. Why was the word so much harder than daughter? Perhaps it was easier to love Marie because of her physical attributes that so clearly linked her to him. That and her astounding singing abilities. Though she had more of Christine in her inner self, and she was struggling with the music theory and the organ.

Erik regarded Micah again. Dressed as the noble he was, the bile rose into Erik's mouth before he could remind himself that this "noble" was his son. Sitting down next to him, Erik furrowed his eyebrows as he studied Micah's face. Something wasn't right. Erik extended his hand out, but his finger hesitated and momentarily hovered above Micah's face.

"…Phantom?"

Erik's head whipped around so sharply he felt a pain in his neck. Marie was sitting up, and accepting a hot cup of liquid from Madame Giry. Her eyes were timid and downcast.

Erik immediately rushed to her side, keeping his cape close to his body as he went. Madame Giry tutted and made her way over to Micah.

"Marie, are you alright?"

Marie refused to look at him.

"Yes… I'm fine…"

She hesitantly found his eyes. Erik suddenly understood.

"Marie, I'm so sorry for being angry and shouting at you. Most of all striking you…"

Gently he stroked her cheek, and to his surprise she closed her eyes and accepted his gloved touch. What a gift this child was…Erik felt the emotions rise within him.

"Marie… I wouldn't know what I'd do without you…"

She smiled, and moved to embrace him.

"You've been so wonderful to me, better than anyone else in the world. I love life here… you're almost like a father to me!"

Marie's hand moved down to his side, but she drew it away surprised and alarmed when it met with a sticky, wet surface. Her hand was covered in red.

"Phantom!" She gasped, "What happened?"

Erik squinted his eyes, trying to focus on Marie's face and tell her he was fine. Yet suddenly it was hard to open his lips, and he couldn't seem to articulate at all. He felt his body sway slightly.

"Madame Giry, help him!"

Incredibly fast for a woman her age, Madame Giry was over to the both of them and had bent underneath Erik. With Marie's help they supported his weight.

"He's lost too much blood, help me lay him down."

Erik dimly registered the worried tone, and vaguely wondered if he should be worried too…

"Careful now, don't take off the cloak until he's out, it's dried to his skin. He won't be able to feel us rip it if we wait a few moments…"

Slowly fading off into the dark recesses that beckoned him, Erik heard a rustle, followed by a small groan, then a loud exclamation.

"Marie! The phantom of the opera!"

And frantic movement…then nothing.

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"Micah, no!"

Marie rushed forward, holding back her brother, who was doing everything in his power so he could get to Erik.

"Marie, get away from him! Don't worry, I won't let him—"

THWACK!

Madame Giry's cane came smashing across the back of Micah's leg, causing him to yelp and properly disband his struggles.

"Impudent boy, stop your nonsense!"

Micah looked wildly at this new woman, tenderly rubbing his calves.

"I… what…?" Then more boldly, "Who are you?"

THWACK!

Micah winced as this blow rapped across his toes.

"As stubborn as your father! I have yet to teach the both of you manners!"

Ignoring the looks both children were giving her, she turned back to Erik.

"You two out! I need to concentrate!"

Marie grabbed Micah's hand, and made as if to lead him out. Micah, however, stuck to the spot.

"Wait a moment, how do you know our father?"

Madame Giry looked for a second with extreme irritation. Then she realized.

"You don't know yet…"

"Know what?" Marie sounded worried.

"Go on children, it shall all be explained to you when Erik is well, and that could take awhile. Shoo!"

This time it was Micah who grabbed Marie's hand and led the way. They wandered out to the side of the lake, Marie muttering to herself the entire time.

"Erik…Erik… 'My name was an accident...' Erik. Err…Err…ik. Ik Ik… eek. Er…eek! Erik!"

Marie reached underneath her black curtain of hair and gingerly touched the mishappen side of her face.

He had suffered so much, this phantom. Marie didn't know how or when, but she could sense the tragic air that lingered about him…

"Marie, what's going on?"

Micah was incredibly distressed and confused at this point.

Marie wasn't quite sure how to explain anuthing; her abduction, her new life with the Phantom. Or Erik? And what was Micah doing here after all?

"Micah, why are you here?"

The question startled Micah, and he looked hurt.

"Why? Well… to rescue you of course!" He grabbed both of her hands. "To take you home, away from this monster! You're not hurt are you? In any way?"

Marie was touched by Micah's sincerity, especially since he had never shown a real interest in her before. Yet something still wasn't right.

"But Micah…why are you here, and where's f-Raoul or mother? And how did you know where to find me?"

Micah didn't fail to hear the hesitation and change from father to Raoul.

"Why did you call him by his first name?"

Marie's pale skin flushed, and her eyes flashed defiantly.

"That man never paid me the least bit of attention, and he always treated me different from you, more so than the difference between son and daughter."

"And what about this man, this Erik?" Micah said, his arms gesturing wildly. "How does he make you feel?"

Marie didn't hesitate.

"Loved, and accepted. Raoul was scared when he looked at me Micah! He burned the piano, and would never mother sing for me. Like he was frightened of my music!"

Micah blinked, completely incredulous.

"Is that what this is about? Music lessons? Marie, I can arrange for that if you would just return home! And father didn't burn the piano, he-"

"You arrange? Why would you arrange it?"

"Marie… I…." Micah stopped, and rain his hands through his hair. He clenched his teeth, and closing his eyes, let out a deep breath.

"Marie, father is no longer himself. He's…changed. He's a ward at the institution. I am now the vicomte."

Marie's eyes grew wide with horror.

"What? My God, what happened?"

Marie fell down by the water's edge, feeling the tears brimming under her eyes. She felt Micah come behind her and protectively lay his hands on her shoulders.

"Marie," he began, as if each word pained him.

This wasn't going to be easy…

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Review! I'm in desperate need of actual comment on the story and plot, so please don't simply leave the 'good job update!' reviews. It's nice to have them, but something a little more… fulfilling would be appreciated.


	10. Chapitre 10

In the other room, Erik was leaning gratefully against Madame Giry, surprised as always at the older woman's strength and fortitude.

"You need to tell them Erik."

Erik winced at the movement, but nodded all the same.

"I know...I know..."

She was persistent.

"_Now_ Erik."

Erik shot her a look.

"He did slash me, you know."

Madame Giry grunted.

"I probably would have as well. Now _move_."

The pair moved out of the room and down by the lake, where Erik registered Micah hunched over Marie's kneeling figure. Erik braced himself against Madame Giry anew, who offered out to him her walking cane.

"Don't you need it?"

The old ballet instructor grinned mischieviously.

"Some things are better off being used for another purpose."

Erik was still smiling when Micah's voice floated up towards him. A voice, Erik noticed for the first time, which was quite pleasing to the ear... much unlike Raoul's aristocratic boom.

"Marie...I... don't know how to say this..."

Marie kneeled in her brother's arms, dreading the worst and not wanting to hear the words from Micah's mouth. It felt like she already knew.

"Mother... mother's... dead."

Marie sat wide-eyed, her body frozen in shock. No, it couldn't be! Her beautiful, sad mother dead?

CRACK.

Marie and Micah jumped and whirled around. The infamous phantom of the opera stood there trembling, an old woman supporting his body and a snapped cane clutched in his shaking fingers.

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A/N: So sorry about the shortness of this one, been very busy with the end of the school year. Then again, this chapter might need to stand on its own.. Yet you know what that means! More time to write and update! YAY!

Lol, so yeah. Also, look for my new fic, which is a humorous diary that Erik has seemed to keep...haha.

AND AS ALWAYS, REEEEEEEVIEW!

Erik thanks you.

Silinde, aka Diana.


	11. Chaptire 11

Thanks for all the loverly support! I've been inspired to update quickly, so thank the plot bunny! Also, thanks for the 'constructive' reviews. I really like reading what you guys have to say, short of 'good now update!'. I really want to know what you think. But if you feel lazy, a 'shut up and update' would suffice too, I just like getting reviews! On with the story!

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Shock. Denial. Complete and utter defeat. Erik could not believe it.

"But... how?"

Marie was sobbing into her brother's arms, while Madame Giry kept a firm grip on a shaking Erik, despite her own tears.

The prima donna of the opera populaire was dead...

Micah's furious, tear-stained face rose to viciously meet Erik's form as the phantom spoke. Micah's answer was only a harsh whisper.

"It was you."

Marie raised her face half-way.

"What?"

"She died when HE hit the horse that night... hethrew a stone so he could get away with you... to run away like a coward. He hit the horse and it reared, and she fell back into the river! It was ALL YOU!"

Marie could only look on in shock and horror as Micah raced towards the quaking figure in front of him.

"Micah no!"

Erik roughly shoved Madame Giry aside and staggered without her support as Micah beat down upon his body, fists flailing. Wounded physically and spiritually, Erik did nothing to stop the abuse. In face, he welcomed it.

He had killed Christine... Each blow felt deserving, and Erik reveled in the pain. Perhaps if he was hit hard enough, he would die too...

"Micah! Stop this now!"

Marie flung her body in front of Erik, trying desperately to protect him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and since his mask had fallen off, she arched her body to protect his face. She turned to face Micah.

SMACK!

One of Micah's blows had caught Marie on her deformed side, and the shock and pain of the blow made her crumple momentarily on top of Erik. Erik jolted, and immediately felt his anger flare. That blow was for him! He deserved this pain! But not Marie... Despite the blood and injury, Erik summoned up a burst of energy and whipped the rug out from underneath Micah's feet. Erik swiftly withdrew Micah's sword from its sheath at the boy's side as he fell, and Micah's own blade was at his neck before he hit the ground. Marie had rolled away and was watching the scene through her fingers, which she held tight over her stinging face.

"Erik, NO!"

Madame Giry was sitting from a corner on the floor, holding her ankle which was in an awkward position since Erik threw her.

For a few tense moments, the two men stared at each other in this position. Marie's eyes were now darting back and forth between the two men, her mind raking form, character, and...eyes.

Then suddenly, Micah's hand shot out and deftly removed the thin lasso around Erik's waist. In an instant, Erik found himself gasping for breath underneath the harsh material of his own Punjab.

"Micah...please...don't!"

From his position underneath Erik, Micah tightened the noose slightly.

"He killed our mother, Marie, and drove father mad! Why shouldn't I just end this despicable reign now? Come home with me Marie, and let's forget about this man!" Erik refused to give Micah the satisfaction of him choking, and his face was turning progressively darker. His eyes were glowing with electricity.

"Give me a reason why not Marie!"

Marie's eyes were now desperate, and the words tumbled out before she could stop them. It was so obvious now, as the two fought side by side. So obvious... their manner, their fight, the passion!

"Because Micah! Because..._he's_ your father!"

There was a stunned silence following her exclamation, and Erik took advantage of Micah's momentary surprise by slitting the lasso against the sword blade. It fell harmlessly off, and Erik shoved Micah aside. Erik backed away, still in shock. Christine...

Micah scowled.

"I don't know what this...man has been doing to you Marie, but obviously he's confused your mind."

Marie turned to Madame Giry.

"You must be able to see it!"

Her face white and her fingers still clutching her ankle, Madame Giry gritted her teeth and looked away. However, when she spoke, it was firm and correct, as it always was.

"This was not how I imagined it to go... in fact, I'd rather you hadn't found out at all... I only knew myself moments ago."

All present were watching her with bated breath. Then her brisk manner returned abruptly.

"Well don't just stand there gaping like fish! Stories need to be told, obviously, but no one in this room is in any such condition. You, boy!"

Micah jumped.

"Help me walk, I need to tend to Erik first. Then Marie. Perhaps I'll leave you to yourself, since you seemed to have caused the most damage." Micah knew better than to say anything. "Marie, if you're able, please help your father up."

Micah stood, rooted to the spot, angry.

"Stop saying that! Stop encouraging these lies! I'm not doing anything until I know–"

SMACK!

The bottom remnant of Madame Giry's cane made painful contact with Micah's shin. Again.

"You. Here. _NOW_."

Grudgingly Micah escorted Madame Giry to a chair, and she slowly sat down.

"There now, that wasn't so difficult. I'll make gentlemen of you two yet!"

Micah opened his mouth to protest, but his throbbing legs helped him think better of it.

"Now boy, hand me some pastes, salves, and bandages, they should be in one of Erik's far cupboards."

Erik raised his figure, his temper rising despite his emotional pain. The thought of Micah rummaging through his things! He was going to protest, but a sharp pain in his side took the wind out of him, and made him wince.

Marie glanced at him worriedly.

Madame Giry clasped her hands together and sighed as she surveyed the work that lay ahead of her. Her eyes fell upon Erik, whose injuries weren't anything to be desired. The poor man...

"Well, I have work to do."

The old woman wasn't just referring to the physical injuries, either.

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He'd been found at night by a band of wandering gypsies. Seeing his ward clothing, they assumed he was a suicide and took pity on him. In their rag-tag tents, the old wives nursed his injuries until he was well again. Then he insisted on speaking with the leader, a rough looking man by the name of Zaire.

Raoul told Zaire who he was, and what he wanted. The greedy, black-toothed man was more than willing to try to do deed for the amount of gold that was being offered.

"Are you sure zis is vat you vant?"

Raoul grinned and leaned back on the dirty rags being used as pillows. He was missing a tooth from the fall.

"Oh yes, most definitely."

"Eh... zis won't be easy, you know. Many know of zis Phantom... and zey von't vant to get involved..."

"Find the men. I'll pay more."

"Ahf course, monsewer. Vhatever you vant."

The manicured, tan hand shook the knarled, blackened one.

Later, alone with his men, Zaire conferred.

"Zis man is obviously crazy... and important. I zay ve make 'im believe ve killed zis 'phantom', reap our money, then ransom him for twice ze amount!"

His men gave a rowdy cheer.

"Yes... zis is vat ve'll do. And zis phantom, zer is a price on 'is head, you know. Somezing about the fire long ago, and murder. Even after all zees years, ze reward money still stands. And he is old now, and easy job! Men, we'll be rich!"

And with raising goblets and the breaking of the ale barrel, twenty-five thiefs and scoundrels drank to Erik's downfall.

Deals of the devil.

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Thanks for reading, review!

Silinde

aka

Diana.


	12. Chapitre 12

Erik was despondent. Reasonably so. This didn't mean certain sons were going to let him off easy.

"But... wait... I don't understand! Mother met him when she was 17? In the opera house? That's when she met father! And they never told us about you..."

Marie was getting frustrated.

"Oh Micah, why do you have to be–"

"Marie!"

Madame Giry had been the mediator of the discussion for the past two hours.

"Please, dear, his whole world has been rocked out of place. Have patience and understanding."

Marie sat down, crossing her arms and shooting a furious look at the stones.

"Micah, as explained before, Raoul and Erik fought for the love of your mother. She loved both men."

Micah had his head in his hands.

"But that's impossible, you can't love two men! Let alone marry one and have children with another!"

"Oh, can't you?"

It was the first time Erik had spoken during the discussion.

"Micah, you loved your mother, correct?"

"Yes." he replied heatedly.

"You also love your sister, do you not?"

"Yes, yes! That's why I came after–"

He fell silent.

"Love is something you can't pretend to understand," Erik continued, his voice merely a whisper. He opened his mouth as if to say more, then shook his head and fell silent.

"Micah," Madame Giry picked up, "Erik represented everything young, beautiful, and passionate about your mother. The danger, the daring, the excitement, Erik was her dark angel. He seduced her, yes, but you were conceived out of pure, unaltered love. The kind of love Christine had for Raoul. At first."

"At first? What do you–"

"Your mother was scared, Micah. She had been under the illusion that Erik was an angel; a guardian! Only to find out he was a man... a man who desperately wanted and needed her. She ran into the arms of someone who represented what made sense; someone she connected with simpler times, and someone who reminded her of the days with her father."

"...my f-Raoul."

"Yes."

Micah scowled.

"A wonderful theory, yet one part is still leaving a gaping hole. Marie and I look nothing alike. I have no traces of..._him_ in me."

Madame Giry rose, her cane rising slowly. Micah immediately backed off.

"Are you so sure, monsieur?"

She reached out with her cane and mussed the hair that covered his head.

"Yes I'm sure!"

Micah was indignant and angry at his hair being messed with.

"I look nothing like–"

"Look."

Madame Giry steered Micah into a mirror.

"What am I supposed to see?"

"Your hair."

"...is a brownish blonde. Like maman's."

"Tut tut, monsieur. Your hair is, yes, but look closer."

Micah decided to humor the old lady, and bent forward in the mirror. Madame Giry lifted part of his hair, revealing the roots.

Micah's heart skipped a beat.

Black.

"You see, all those times capering with Raoul out in the city have bleached your hair to a much lighter color."

Micah backed away. It was too much.

"You're crazy, all of you. Hair can't change color... and it's not just that! My skin's too dark, my features are different!" He pointed over at Erik's slumped figure.

"I am NOT his son!"

And grabbing his sword and folded, black cloak, Micah de Chagney ran from the lair.

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"Oh no, Madame Giry, what are we going to do?"

"After him child, quick, before–"

"No."

Both women looked to Erik.

"Let him go..."

"But, Erik, I–"

"LEAVE HIM!"

Erik stood, his fury returning.

"HE DOESN'T WANT TO BE HERE, LET HIM LEAVE! LET THE BOY RUN, LET HIM RUN, AND TELL THE WORLD ABOUT THE HORRORS OF THE OPERA HOUSE'S SEWER GHOST! I DON'T BLAME HIM, PERSONALLY. WHO'D WANT A FATHER LIKE ME, A CREATURE LIKE ME TO BE CLAIMED AS YOUR PARENT?"

His body shook, his voice raged. Tears spilled from his eyes. Marie didn't hesitate. She went over to him a seized him in a vice-like embrace, kissing the masked side of his face.

"I do."

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"Who ees zat?"

The men were crouched in the gutters, knives and jewelry blackened by soot and smoke. They curiously watched Micah's cloaked form emerge from the ruins of the opera house.

"Eet must be 'im."

One man, with quite a few more pieces of jewelry than the others, turned sharply to another man.

"Quick, tell Zaire. See vat our next instructions are."

The man scowled, showing he understood and accepted, and spirited off into the night.

"You, Bladvak. Follow ze ghost. Don't lose sight ohve 'im. We'll follow soon ahfter."

One man licked his blade greedily.

"Hehe, blood be spilled. Slash em good good..."

Micah!

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Review!

Silinde

aka

Diana


	13. Chapitre 13

Marie sat at the organ bench, frettfully twisting her hands in her lap. Madame Giry was nearby, worriedly watching Erik, who was putting on every apperance of being completely fine. Or trying to. He kept touching the side of his face that Marie had touched, kissed! So much like Christine...

"Erik, we must go after Micah. And you're still injured! I think you need a real doctor."

Erik gave Madame Giry a scowl that immediately turned into a grimace of pain.

"He can't just waltz outside and find a doctor!" Marie protested. "He could get arrested, or...or... worse!"

At this Erik's eyes flashed.

"I am not leaving you here with that BOY on the loose! He might come back, and, uh...and.."

"Take me home?" Marie finished quietly, not looking at him.

Madame Giry's gaze darted between the two. Uncertain, unsure.

Erik's voice was expressionless yet steely.

"It's what you want, isn't it? Just like your mother! So alike...promises and shows of love... only to secretly wish to leave this sewer and never return!"

Marie didn't answer immediately. Her hesitation was reason enough to Erik.

"But he won't take you back! You're MINE!"

Erik gasped in pain and crumpled, and like a flash both women moved to his aid.

"Get away from me!" He thrashed, venom in his voice and eyes. "Just get away! Just...just..."

His voice tapered off into a pleading whisper.

BANG! BANG! THUMP!

Everyone jumped as the loud noises echoed around the lair. Marie and Madame Giry looked around fearfully. Erik's eyes narrowed. A small grin split across his face. Like the old days... slip out of your sorrow and into madness!

"Callers..."

"Erik, NO!" Madame Giry moved to block him. "You promised! And you're hurt!"

He sneered and pushed her aside.

"Look where promises have gotten me, madame."

He shot Marie a nasty look.

And disappeared into the catacombs.

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Micah was dazed, confused, and angry. Making his way through the night, he wiped the tears from his eyes as he made his way resolutely through the darkened streets.

To the asylum.

He needed someone who had always been there, had shown and taught him everything he'd known. Someone familiar...Father.

Something nagged at the back of his mind. That irritating, simpering little voice.

_But Raoul taught you none of your skills, remember? You learned all those yourself... how surprised your tutors were! Ha, perhaps it's in the family..._

Micah gritted his teeth. He was going mad! He just needed to escape all of this... how ridiculous it all was!

Yet one thing was still clear. Micah needed to save Marie from the vices of what was clearly a mad-man AND woman... a woman with a very lethal cane. Shaking his head to try and clear confusion, Micah looked up at the dark, brooding outline of the asylum that lay before him.

Then he heard the small plink of a solitary piece of granite.

WHAP!

Micah had pivoted to the side and butted the head of the figure that had been skulking behind him with his sword hilt. The unforunate mercenary was knocked silly immediately, and collasped to the ground in a very undignified fashion.

"Why hello. I wonder what you were up to."

Micah frowned down at the figure, not really sure what to do. If it was a common thief, Micah felt bad leaving him there. After all, the man was just trying to get by. But the glint of the man's gold earrings caught his eye.

"Wait a second, you're a gypsy mercenary!"

Micah paled at the thought of a band of gypsies after his blood. Evading one man in the dark was one thing, but an entire family of blood-thirsty, determined gypsies? He began to feel nervous. Why were they after him?

A terrifying thought struck him. What if they'd been hired to exterminate the adolescent heirs of the de Changey household? That meant Marie was in danger too!

Micah thought quickly. In the lair with the mad-man, she was probably safer from their detection. That didn't mean things were any better for him. Yet Micah wanted to avoid the lair and the supposed phantom at all costs.

"Perhaps the woman would help me..." But then remembering her fierce loyalty to the masked man, this hope quickly faded. What was Micah to do? And the de Chagney household! It'd beenat least a day since he'd left. They had to be worried about him. The only thing to do was to quickly get Marie and return home, immediately barring the household from any dangers. Then they would be safe.

Yet Marie wasn't likely to come willingly.

"That's something I'll deal with when it come," Micah said resolutely, and began to sneak back towards the opera.

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Madame Giry was beside herself.

"He _must_ be stopped! He cannot do this again, it will ruin him when he comes to his senses!"

Marie was frantic, having no idea what Madame Giry meant and being possessed with worry.

"But I don't understand, where's he gone?"

"Up, you foolish girl! Up to _greet his callers!_" Madame Giry fell to the floor, distraught. "Oh, what if he fails? He's not so young as to succeed all the time! _Foolish_ man, _stupid_ man..."

Greatly alarmed and frightened, Marie summoned up her will and courage. She grabbed her cloak off of a nearby chair.

"Where are you going?" Madame Giry demanded.

Marie didn't respond, merely worriedly glanced at Madame Giry, and took off in the direction she'd seen the phantom go.

"GET BACK HERE NOW!" Madame Giry, with her injured ankle, could do nothing to stop her.

"And I, the only one knowing what awaits this twisted family... _foolish_ man, _foolish_ girl..." She fell weeping onto the stone floor.

Marie was hesitantly feeling her way among the unfamiliar passages; obviously it was an alternate route from the lair than crossing the lake. She cat-walked her way over board and walkways, until an open area to the side caught her attention.

She heard voices, belonging to those of Paris' police troop. Words and phrases were caught intermittedly.

"Raoul de Chagney... "

"...yes mad of course... phantom still livng?"

"Offered a big enough sum for my night... "

"...of course there is no phantom. ...Ravings of a mad man!"

"Ah, but a rich mad man!"

She sneaked to the opening, and was suprised to find the phantom's back almost touching her face. She instinctively pulled back, inhaling a sharp breath. It was in that moment that Erik turned and shall her, his attention diverted from staying hidden from the intruders. One of the men pointed to their place and shouted.

"Up there!"

Marie felt her world freeze... she could see every detail, every minute expression. It was as if the world went in slow motion. The motion of the troops, the pointing of the arm. The gleam of suprise, anger, then... terror? in the phantom's eyes.

WHAP!

BANG!

Marie felt her body stinging as the phantom slammed her backwards onto a plank. They were out of the vision line of the men, but their shots still zinged around them, ripping holes through the scenery and planks that hid their bodies.

BANG! BANG BANG BANG!

Marie tried to squirm out from under Erik's body, but he forced to be still with his weight.

"You damned girl, stay still!"

Marie meekly obeyed.

Then suddenly, the shots stopped. The men were talking again.

"...Swore I saw something!"

"...had too much...drink... on duty..."

"As mad as de Chagney now..."

When they had exited the room they were in, Erik angrily turned to her.

"Explain yourself!"

Marie felt her own anger flare up. "You explain YOURSELF!"

Erik rage bubbled.

"You are a child, who is insolent enough to talk back to your elders and disrespect your fath-ME!"

Marie realized this, and fell silent.

"I...I was worried about you." She said softly.

Erik felt his heart melt, despite himself.

"Where is Madame Giry?"

"Below. She can't move with her ankle."

Erik's expression turned grave.

"Let's hope they don't find the lair. Again."

Marie looked into his eyes.

"Why are those men here?"

"I... I don't know Marie."

"Don't lie."

He scowled at her, but stayed silent.She ventured further.

"What were you going to do to them phantom?"

"I was--"

Erik was interrupted by the abrupt arrival of Micah, shouting uncautiously through the opera house.

"MARIE! MARIE, WHERE ARE YOU?"

Erik swore under his breath.

"Idiot boy!"

Then Erik's heart sank into his stomach when he saw the boy's attire; he was covered in a black cloak that wreathed his entire body. And he was heading straight towards the police.

Not pausing to think, he grabbed Marie, and began lacing her tightly with the cords that hung from the ceiling to the wooden planks.

"STOP! Phantom! What are you doing! LET ME GO!"

"Quiet!" He snapped, and ripped a portion of his own cloak, stuffing it into her mouth.

"I"m about to go save your brother's life, and it's rather much more conveinent to have you safe up here."

Marie's eyes flashed furiously, and Erik was momentarily amused by the familiar fire in them. But he could apologize later.

"MARIE! MARRRRIIIEEEEE!"

"That boy obviously picked up some of Raoul's stupidity..."

Then Erik heard something that jolted him into immediate reaction, and sent him hurtling towards Micah.

Gunshots.


	14. Chaptire 14

"Marie! Marie, where are you?"

Micah peered through the dimly lit passageway, trying vainly to remember his way back down to the lair. He bundled his cloak close to his body to guard against the chill, and made his way onto the old stage. The vantage point was vast.

"Marie?"

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

"Over there!"

Micah felt his instincts kick into overdrive as the police force burst through the stage right door. In a nanosecond, he made sure his face was hidden by his hood and the shadow. Micah swirled his cloak about his body to make his statue appear grander, less the men realize he was only a boy.

One man pointed with a gloved hand and astounded expression.

"Look! The phantom of the opera! He exists!"

Micah felt himself freeze. These men thought he was a criminal! Yet at the same time, he felt a fierce pride course through his veins. He wasn't sure why.

Micah unsheathed his sword slowly, keeping his 13 year-old hand hidden beneath the cloak, and letting the long, lethal blade gleam in the dim light. A warning.

The men drew their guns and swords, and slowly began to advance towards Micah. Micah felt his body tense with the adrenaline and apprehension of battle.

"Here he is men, the famous mass murderer!" one uniformed man spat. "My mother died in the fire that night thirteen years ago! I was there, listening to her screams of agony and pain as the flames ate her flesh. You filth, you caused it, you did it! Die!"

Without any further hesitation, the man raised his bayonet and aimed straight at Micah's shrouded figure.

Nearby, Erik had just reached the stage's level. Erik saw the man's arm rise as if in slow motion, and his heart dropped into his shoes and down into the lair. No, this wasn't happening. Not after Christine! Uncharacterisitcally panicking, he slid down invisbly into the pit, and reached up and grabbed the gun man's leg, yanking hand. Immediately the man was down flat on his face, his gun barrel pointed straight up, and the shot striking and extinguishing the dim gas lamps. Erik flew across the stage floor, slamming into Micah. Erik used the momentum to push Micah and himself over to and through a trap door that lay wedged between the store floor and wall.

The men were left in utter confusion in the darkness, until one man took flint to wood, and constructed a makeshift torch.

"Let's get out of here," one snarled, the flames throwing the wrinkles in his face into sharp relief. "This man has too many tricks for my liking. We shall return when we collect our full forces."

Muttering and casting suspicious glances at the shadows, the men ascended from the opera house and back in to the streets of Paris.

Micah and Erik were just beneath the trap door, shoved up against each other and not daring to move or breathe. As soon as the men's footsteps faded, both of them exhaled loudly, and knelt down panting from the fear and adrenaline, trying to recover from what had almost happened. Inside his mind, Erik was a mess. It felt worse than if he'd been the one up there... no, that was inaccurate. He didn't care what happened to him, not anymore... not since Christine. ... Erik felt a stab of pain in his heart. What of his feelings for Micah then? Erik was scared after the incident; almost... almost as if it had been Marie up there. His daughter, and his son. He loved them both.

Finally, Micah spoke.

"You know... I could have so taken them."

Erik felt his thought process stop, and do a complete turn-around at the boy's brave attempt of bravado. He smirked, despite himself.

"How foolish. You were ridiculously outnumbered."

Micah pretended to not be phased.

"I still could have taken them."

"I concede the fact that you very well could have 'taken them', but with the drawn firearms you were rat meat. You have no weapons against guns. You just have to run."

Micah scowled. "Running..."

There was a brief pause. Erik looked over to Micah, not entirely sure where he was through the darkness.

"Why did you come back? To the opera house, I mean."

Micah's eyes widened in remembrance.

"The gypsy mercenaries!"

Erik looked fearful. "What!"

"I was out on the streets, and I caught a gypsy following me! I came back right away to get Marie, I wanted to protect her from them."

Erik looked incredulous.

"But surely you know she is safest here?"

Micah opened his mouth, then closed it, not wanting to admit he had meant to take Marie home.

"Well...I suppose." He hesitated.

"You just want to protect her, don't you?"

Micah nodded. Erik continued.

"I know what that's like."

Erik noticed the dynamics in their relationship were changing rapidly.

"So, you don't view me as some twisted, violent man anymore?"

"No...I mean...what you did for me on stage... was reckless. The odds were bad, and... if they would have killed me, they would have thought you were finally dead, and they probably would have you left alone. Forever."

Erik's heart jolted at this.

"To be honest, Micah, I didn't even realize that."

Micah looked mildly surprised.

"Well, I suppose you're right. I mean, they would have obviously realized who I was eventually, that I was Micah deChagney, they would connect me with you, and probably the entire de Chagney household would be taken from Marie. She'd be thrown out onto the streets as the bastard child of the opera ghost."

Erik winced.

"Actually that wasn't what I was thinking either. Though of course it's most unfortunate..."

"Then what?"

"I was thinking... about you. Your eyes, your hair, your face, your fierce determination to save the one you love, especially since she's the only one you love who's still alive. I was so scared, so afraid when I grabbed the man's leg. I could have easily gotten us both shot. I fear guns more than anything. I guess.. I was mostly afraid of losing you now that I had just found you."

"And have you found me?"

Micah's voice broke slightly, and Erik thought he imagined a tear roll down Micah's cheek in the dark.

Erik then realized that shock was probably setting into Micah from what he had just experienced. As if to confirm this, Erik felt Micah's body begin to tremble beside him. Erik was amazed that he knew just what to do, without any hesitation. He gently seized the boy, hugging him comfortingly yet firmly.

"No one's going to threaten those I love. You've been so responsible and held accountable for so long... it's my turn now. Let me take over. Your father's here."

Erik couldn't help but cry silnetly with happiness and contentment as Micah surrendered himself completely in his arms. Erik carried him down to the lair, as a girl's shadow watched them from above, miffed at being forgotten but glad for their reconciliation and of course, her knot-picking skills.


	15. Chapitre 15

It's been awhile, but after re-reading this story, I though "dang, it really wasn't that bad". So, I'm taking another crack at it, and after having a cup of tea with Erik, it's been decided.

When Erik finally had trudged back to the lair, it was as one returning back from a particularly nasty battle.

He half-carried, half dragged Micah, and was greeted by the sight of a not-so-happy Madame Giry sitting upright in a chair, despite her injury.

Erik was about to question that when Marie came striding out of her room, another bundle of rags in her arms.

"Marie? I thought I—"

"You did." She grinned mischievously, then her gazed dropped to Micah.

"Micah! Ph-father, what happened?"

Madame Giry looked indignant.

"Yes, now what has he done?"

Erik shot her a look over his shoulder as Marie helped him lower Micah to the couch.

"Never mind the usual puns and wits. We have a serious problem on our hands."

Madame Giry and Marie's eyes grew wide and fearful as Erik told of his and Micah's encounter with the (gypsies) and policemen.

"And they said they'd be back?" Madame Giry whispered, her face drawn in terror.

"Yes. With everyone. And it's quite apparent that they're shooting anything that moves, to kill."

"To kill…"

Madame Giry sat back in her chair, and Marie sank down beside Micah.

"What are we going to do?"

Erik gritted his teeth.

"The only think I can think of."

He looked at Marie.

"We need to get you out of here. Now."

Marie opened her mouth in protest, but Madame Giry cut her off.

"He's right. Both of you need to leave!"

Marie was clearly distressed.

"Marie, listen to me! Those men are going to shoot first, and ask questions later!" Erik was now flitting about the room, talking as he went, slipping his ancient sword in side.

"You need to help rouse Micah, and you need to leave." He looked to Madame Giry. "You as well."

The ballet instructor nodded sadly, and Erik slipped a spare Punjab into his cloak.

"But father, I—"

Erik sat down next to Marie, gently cradling her face in his gloved fingers.

"Marie, I would physically, spiritually, and mentally die if anything happened to you. Especially because of me."

Marie felt tears welling at her eyes, but refused to let them come forth.

She looked up at Erik, wondering if this is what her mother had felt all those years ago.

"Well, if this is how it must be, I shall leave now."

Madame Giry slowly got up, testing the weight on her ankle.

"Will you be alright, Madame Giry?"

Madame Giry smiled at the young girl's concern.

"These old bones have seen worse, my dear."

She looked to Erik.

"As always, I won't say goodbye, because the Lord forbid you should ever leave this old woman to her peace."

Erik smiled at their old joke.

"I'll be seeing you when you need something else, I'm sure."

The two only smiled at each other and gave knowing looks as the old friends parted.

As she turned and hobbled slowly out, she whispered a last prayer to the one she had saved so many years ago.

"Good luck, Erik."

Erik snapped out of his reverie after a few moments, and returned to a crisp and efficient manner.

"Right. Marie, you stay in the lair and continue to try and rouse Micah. When he wakes, and this is important! He is to take you out the way you came in. Got that? It's crucial. That exact way you came in! And whatever you hear, DO NOT come after me. Get away! Do you understand?"

The tears flowed freely now, cascading down her cheeks.

"Marie? Do you understand?"

Marie abandoned all pretenses and threw herself into his arms. Taken aback by such an outward display of emotion, Erik was speechless.

"I love you papa…"

Erik felt his heart lurch… never, not even Christine, had he ever heard such meaning… such force…

Then she sniffed loudly, and some of Christine's air came through.

"But if you get hurt, I'll have to kill you."

They allowed each other a small smile, before he grasped both her hands with his and kissed them. He dug inside his cloak and produced one dry, withered rose.

"I love you, Marie."

With a quick peck on the cheek and a last brush of her face, he melted calmly into the shadows.

As soon as Erik had gone, Micah sat straight up.

Marie was shocked, and jumped off the couch.

"Micah!"

"Right," he began, looking around. "Don't look so shocked Marie, I was simply listening and gathering my thoughts. We need to get moving."

Marie set her jaw and looked Micah firmly in the eyes.

"I am NOT leaving him."

Micah shrugged nonchalantly.

"I know. And you aren't."

Marie didn't even have time to acknowledge her surprise before Micah picked her up and began the ascent from the lair.

"Micah! I said I'm not leaving!"

"Ssh! What if the men come back? And I told you, we aren't leaving."

"Then what are we doing? And I can walk, THANK YOU."

Micah put her down.

"We... helping."

"Oh...right."

Micah pointed to the rafters above them.

"We need to be up here."

"Why?"

"I have an idea."

They began the climb, and just as they were safely up and hidden, what remained of the opera house doors banged open, as three dozen brigade men armed to the teeth march in. Micah gritted his teeth from his perch.

"Damn."


	16. Chapitre 16

Erik watched the progress of the brigade from the moment they had burst into the opera house. Noticing their numbers and firepower, he sighed.

"Damn."

Erik crouched poised, hoping and praying that what he was about to do would give Marie time to wake Micah and escape.

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Marie tugged impatiently on Micah's sleeve.

"What are we—"

"Ssh, and keep my cloak on!"

Marie wasn't satisfied, but grew quiet at the tone of Micah's voice and wrapped the cloak covering the both of them tighter around her shoulders. Her eyes grew round in horror when she saw Micah produce one of Erik's lassos from his pocket. He was staring at something hard; so focused that Marie was frightened into silence.

Micah gazed up and down from the brigade to where he knew Erik was crouching, across the other side of the rafters, oblivious to their presence. Nearly there.

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"Alright," Erik whispered.

As he prepared himself for what he was about the do, he felt recent memories of Marie, Madame Giry, and even Micah permeate his thought and strengthen his resolve.

"Right," he said quietly, gazing down at the brigade, lasso ready. "but this time it's for good."

The brigade of men—about two dozen of them dressed smartly and all carrying pistols and a lantern, began to slowly circle around the theatre. The leader was obvious; the fattest man in uniform who was giving the orders and staying clear in the back. Erik eyed him with disgust.

It had been 13 years since he had killed, and it wasn't so easy this time, even though it for those he loved.

"On three then…"

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Micah tensed, and blew a long breath.

"On three…"

Marie watched, her eyes round orbs.

"One…"

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"Two…" Erik growled, tensing his body…

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"Three!" Skipping a count intentionally, Micah whirled his Punjab for all he was worth in Erik's direction. Caught off guard, the rope caught Erik around the neck and the top of a wooden beam, so he was tied to the beam by his neck, furious and choking to release himself.

Micah tied the end to a beam on his side, making sure it was tight enough to keep Erik still, but loose enough to allow him to breathe. He knew Erik was only trying to protect them, but killing himself just so they could temporarily escape made no sense to Micah. So he had to act.

"Micah!"

Micah slammed a hand across Marie's mouth. She winced at the momentary pain, but immediately forgot it as the brigade gazed up in their direction, pointing and shouting.

In the slight hesitation, Erik's furious glare found the siblings, and Marie was frightened at the maniac fury that raged in his eyes. He grabbed the edge of the rope with both hands and yanked, sending Micah off balance back into the rafters. In his surprise, Micah's foot flew out and connected squarely with Marie's back, sending her falling down through the rafters, practically into the brigade's back.

"No!" Micah screamed.

The brigade missed his cry, since their attention was on the figure in front of them. Marie felt battered, bruised, and bleeding, but she quickly scuttled up and crouched fearfully against the side of the stage where she had fallen.

"Wot's this then, gents?" Said one of the policemen, his cockney accent jarring to Marie's French ears.

Marie bent her head to keep her hair covering her face, trying to use the soot and dirt to camoflauge her features.

The lead brigade-man pushed himself to the front.

"Looks like we found ourselves a rat of the opera sewers, gents."

He grinned, wolf-like, at his men. Then the British man spoke up.

"Ah cap'in, cahn't we 'ave a bit o fun wiv' 'er?"

"The only good sewer rat's a dead one. Who knows what diseases she may have. Kill the wench."

Marie buried her head in her hands and cried out as the man lowered his pistol point blank at her balled-up figure.

"NO!"

With an enormous burst of strength, Erik broke the beam holding him, threw off the rope binding him, and fell to the ground, throwing himself in front of Marie's tiny form.

The man paused, lowering his weapon.

"Gentleman? Could this be? The phantom of the opera standing before us?"

Erik's mind raced with possibilities, but he couldn't attack the men lest they fire back and hurt Marie!

The captain made a mock bow before Erik.

"How precious. The king of the sewer, here! The murderer protecting his rat."

He spit at Erik's feet.

"Probably this week's whore you dredged up from God-knows-where. Imagine the recommendation we'll get gentlemen! Bringing the infamous phantom into custody with his little prostitute. I'll be promoted by morning."

Erik knew the panic showed in his eyes, but there was nothing he could do.

He felt Marie sobbing behind him. He turned his back to the men and threw his cloaked arms around her.

"Ssh Marie, don't cry, be strong."

Erik felt despair welling up inside him, his system reacting savagely to the unfamiliar emotion of the fear that pumped through his veins like poison.

He prayed Micah was watching and waiting, and wouldn't get himself caught as well.

"Well gents, let's bring them in. Separate 'em!"

Marie shrieked and Erik cried out as the men roughly separated the two. Two men held Marie roughly, twisting her arms behind her back and pulling her by her hair. Erik was infuriated, and it took six men to pin him to the ground.

"Look 'ere cap'in, she's twisted just like 'im!"

The captain put his face directly into Marie's disformed one, and spit into her eye.

"Ugly wench. This man has perverse tastes. Thought it doesn't mean she won't have her uses."

The men whooped and hollered.

Erik fought anew, and two more men joined the restraint.

"As for him, we can't have him overpowering us."

He raised his pistol again, and shot point-blank into Erik's chest.

Marie screamed as she never had before, and temporarily escaped her captors. She rushed forward and flew into his arms, grabbing him around the neck and hugging him fiercely.

"Get her off him!"

They pried her fragile body from Erik, and the guards who were restraining him backed off.

Erik lay on the ground, dimly registering the scene around him. He felt a pounding pain in his torso, and suddenly felt tired. He felt his body roughly lifted as the policemen picked him up.

"Throw him in the back, and the wench with him."

The captain turned to the British man.

"And trust me, you'll get your fun just as I'll get my promotion."

Marie wailed anew as another man struck her hard on the bad side of her face.

"Wait, one more thing."

The captain strolled over to Erik, who was beginning to lose consciousness.

"You won't be needing this anymore."

And with that, he tore Erik's mask away from his face, and threw it to the floor, where it shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces.


	17. Chapitre 17

Darkness. Pain.

Erik felt a cruel breeze whipping at his raw skin. Wait, his raw skin? Realizing what that meant, he lifted a heavy hand quickly to his unmasked face. Yet before he could panic and worry about himself, another sense kicked in.

Marie was crying, yelling, raging at an unseen force.

"STOP IT!" She shrieked, rushing the bars of the cells, making them rattle at the crowd of onlookers.

They, in turn, only backed away further so they could point and laugh at the misshapen yet enraged girl from a safer distance.

"Marie…?"

Erik could barely open his mouth, let alone articulate clear speech. What did come out sounded like a croak, hardly the melodious voice Marie had loved.

"He's awake! Look here, everyone, the phantom of the opera lives!"

Marie gnashed her teeth and spit at the crowd.

"Burn in hell for torturing a wounded man!" she screamed.

A gentleman from the front of the crowd reached out and snatched her wrist fast as lightning, pulling her until her body smacked into the cell bars with a painful thud.

"Look at this little demon herself! A wipe wench for—ARGH!"

Marie had kicked her foot through the bars and with all the strength she could muster, stomped on the man's foot. As soon as he released her to clutch himself in pain, she ran to the back of the cell to Erik, the man continuing to moan about a broken foot.

"Show us the phantom, girlie!"

"Yes! The phantom!"

"Let's see who's been sharing the company of such a _lovely_ girl such as yourself!"

Marie positioned her body protectively in front of Erik, who was lying on the cold floor, still trying to regain consciousness. She glared at the crowd, daring.

"Marie…" Erik tried again.

Marie turned her head slightly towards his voice, then winced in pain as a rotten cabbage head caught her in the side of her face, blinding her momentarily and sending a streak of white-hot pain straight to her head.

"Take that, whore of the phantom! His _PROTECTOR!"_ A woman with blackened teeth was pumping a fish triumphantly in the air.

Marie bent down, picked up the cabbage, and lobbed it in a powerful overhand in the woman's direction. With barely a sound, the woman went down, with a few less teeth and her triumphant grin still on her face. The mob immediately began to retaliate.

Marie cringed as rotten vegetable after rotten fruit was hurled at her body, stinging and pounding her delicate frame as she shielded Erik's body.

After a particularly hard and nasty piece of wood struck Marie in the eye and toppled her face-down onto Erik, the crowd seemed finally satisfied with their work, if only for the time being. Most dispensed, promising to return tomorrow with their children and the night's dinner scraps.

"Father," Marie whispered, crawling painfully over to face him. "Are you alright?"

Erik was freezing and felt weak to the point of death, but tried a smile regardless. It must have turned out as more of a grimace, however, because Marie carefully bent down to embrace him.

"You must be in so much pain, pappa."

Erik lifted her chin with his fingers, his thumb slowly tracing the bruise that was beginning to form under her left eye. He wanted to sit up, to embrace the daughter who had so fiercely protected him.

"Not as so much pain as when those people were… striking you…" Erik dissolved into a fit of coughing, trying to sit up. "Marie, I wanted to kill them for that, I—"

"No, don't move pappa. You can't afford to start bleeding again."

It took a few moments before Erik remembered he indeed had been shot, in the chest no less. So why wasn't he dead? Erik felt himself beginning to drift out of consciousness as Marie's anxious face started to swim in front of him.

"Hang on, father. Hang on. I'm here…"

For the second time in his life, Erik felt powerless; utterly and completely out of control, and tired he succumbed to the darkness that he loved so much, if only for a little while.

Marie, hovering worriedly over him, clutched his shoulders in fear as he lost consciousness. Had he died? Marie listened closely, and nearly cried with relief when she saw and felt the weak rise and fall of his chest.

Marie took his pale, cold hands in her and squeezed.

"Oh papa…" she whispered, the tears flowing.

Marie carefully rolled him on his size, his back against the wall, and snaked in tight under his arms. Erik needed body heat and help, fast.

Marie continued to cry silently, not knowing what to do. So for the time being she lay there with her father, closing her eyes and trying desperately to pretend they were back in the lair, enjoying a nap after a particularly hard practice session.

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Micah was in despair himself, and shock.

He stood in the rafters, staring down at the spot near the stage where a small, stagnant pool of blood lay. The phantom of the opera's blood. His father's blood, quite literally Micah's own blood!

And Marie was gone… taken! Who knew what atrocities those men were committing against her at this very moment! He had to act, he had to save her, he had to…

Micah stopped, his usual heroic attitude halted by the reality of the situation. And just what was he supposed to do about it?

Something. Anything. Rushing back down to the lair, it was Micah's intention to catch Madame Giry and ask for her help.

He burst into the lair, and seeing no one, ran down the passage he last saw her disappear into. Micah followed the path until suddenly he found himself bursting out into the sunlight. He squinted and winced against the sun that now seemed much to harsh for his eyes, looking around him dumbly. He was in Paris!

Micah quickly moved away from the ruins, and lost himself in the shadows of an alley of a neighboring building. This was just great; he needed help, and he didn't even know where his only ally lived!

Yet at the same time, what could Madame Giry really do? Not much, Micah concluded. She could help him come up with a plan, but Micah would need to do much of the work himself.

"Well then, I suppose I should get home and collect my bearings."

Micah headed off into the direction of the DeChagney household, whipping out his cloak as he went, shrouding himself instantly in a black cloud of anonymity.

The walk was a short one, and soon Micah's eyes found the familiar flagstones in the road. He raised his head, and despite it all, smiled. He was home.

The DeChagney mansion sat serenely, just as he had left it. Feeling weary yet not in the least tired, Micah entered the grounds. And then stopped dead.

Something didn't feel right here.

Micah couldn't place it, and before meeting Erik he probably would have ignored it as paranoia. Yet Erik had taught him about healthy fear, and you didn't have paranoia unless there was a legitimate fear.

Micah opted to enter through the back garden, and stealthily snuck up the hedge in the back of the house. He peeked his head just high enough over the bush to see into the window.

What he saw nearly made him lose his grip on the leaves.

Martha, that young, fearful, beautiful girl, was sprawled out across the kitchen table, her skirts pulled high and blood dripping from her face and down her arms, to rest in a pool on the hard floor.

Micah felt hot tears run down his face at the atrocity committed to such a sweet, innocent person, and longed to barge into the kitchen to see if she was alive.

Yet the family dogs who were sniffing her with round eyes told him everything. She had been like that for awhile; everyone had been like for awhile, because there was now no one left to feed the dogs. Dogs that were so hungry, they were considering devouring the flesh of a woman who had loved them so diligently. Everyone was dead.

So the gypsies had been here. Probably as soon as Micah had made it back to the opera house.

Micah slowly backed down the hedge, and slipped into the woods surrounding his house. No doubt they were watching, waiting for him to return. They could even be camping out in the very same woods Micah now hid in. Fear coursed through his veins.

As if to confirm this, Micah jumped as the sounds of feet breaking twigs reached his ears. Quick as a flash and any son born of the phantom, Micah was completely camoflauged in a nearby tree, just soon enough to witness the two gypsies who came stomping by.

"My turn to take watch my ass! I'd just done so two nights ago!"

They were rough, battle-worn men with no teeth but a lot of gold adornment. Micah noticed that each carried a large bottle of rum, and seemed rather tipsy.

"Yesh…" the other agreed, his speech noticeably more slurred.

"I was.. .jus' telling them de other night you did."

"Yea… why we even here? De widdle brat probably won't come back… Stupid 'dis is…"

"Well, as leas' we can say we 'ad fun with some o' de staff…"

His partner nudged him, both laughing manically.

"Yea… like that widdle maidie, young and supple as any gypsy girlie… she felt nice, especially when I slit that pretty throat…"

The other man was just about to open his mouth in protest to the fact that he had not partaken in this 'fun', but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out, and his eyes began to bulge, rolling backwards wildly in his head.

"Hey now… what's wrong with you?"

The first gypsy gasped as his partner fell forward, the Punjab catgut wrapped around his neck. As he fell, he stared in horror at the young figure who stood behind where the body had been, reaching into his cloak for another rope and glaring death.

Was this the phantom?!?

"NO! PLEASE! We was… only jok—ARGH!"

Micah felt no pity, only great pleasure as he held the man's lifeline in his hands, a lifeline that didn't deserve to continue.

With the picture of Martha's body pushing him over the brink of sanity, Micah kept his grip on the lasso until the man stopped struggling, and with a grunt Micah sent him to fall onto the ground next to his friend.

"Partners in crime, partners in death."

Micah was shaking, his breathing out of control. What had he done? Part of him was horrified at what had just transpired, yet the other part felt no remorse! My God, what the hell had happened to him?

Realizing he now shared the share curse as his father, Micah stumbled off to the only place he could think of. It was time to visit mother.


	18. Chapitre 18

Dear Readers: Christine is dead. Really, really dead. However, that doesn't mean she's gone for the rest of the story. I love those reunion fics just as much as you do, but honestly, are they realistic? Anywho, she's dead. Thank you.

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Micah stomped through the weeds that were beginning to poke through the unattended graves, treading the familiar path to where his mother's memorial was. After all, no body was ever found of Christine's. The sky was overcast, and it seemed that no living creature dwelled nearby. All was complete silence.

Micah knelt down on the cold, hard earth in front of him, whipping off his cloak and throwing it aside onto a nearby bush as he placed both hands on the ground for support. He raised his eyes to take in the ceramic portrait of his mother on the tombstone, already beginning to crack and peel.

"Mama…" He was overcome with emotion; regret and irony in finding himself turning to the one person he was the least close to growing up. And it seemed almost funny for a moment; the one person who could tell him all he needed to know about Raoul, the phantom, and the opera house was gone. And now, if he didn't act quickly, he would lose the rest of his family. After all, Raoul was probably dead by the gypsies, along with the rest of the household.

Placing his face down on the ground, Micah let his frustration pour out of his young body, sending his tears to mix with the moisture in the dirt.

"What do I do? I can't save them… I can't do this… I'm not like the phantom, or even Raoul… I don't have the courage to just barge into enemy territory and take the lady back like Raoul did with you…"

He reached up and gazed again at the cherubic painting of his mother.

"I can't do this alone.'

He studied her portrait. She seemed so pure, so knowing, so young! This wasn't the face of the mother he had known, the woman who had seemed so alone and desolate.

"I recognize Erik as my father, and I admire him, but I don't believe in angels like he does, mama. I know too well how human we all are. I need help…"

Micah reached up and placed a hand on top of Christine's tombstone, and was surprised to feel warmth radiating up through it. He began to feel a sense of calm surround him, and a light breeze teased the edges of his ever-darkening hair.

_Angel of music…_

The leaves in nearby trees rustled together as the wind grew stronger. Micah felt a calm presence, and his senses told him he was not alone.

_Where is my angel?_

The wind grew stronger for a moment longer, before stopping completely, leaving Micah with the earlier atmosphere of eerie silence. Micah felt the presence grow stronger and no longer able to resist, he turned around slowly.

Waiting patiently about twenty feet behind him was an ethereal visage; a woman dressed in a beautiful stage gown, looking anxious and forlorn at the young boy before her. Her brown hair cascaded down to her waist in a flurry of curls, and her eyes were searching, yet also sad and resigned.

Micah fell backwards onto his bottom, his hands grasping the ground for support.

"M-mother?"

The woman, who had been peering hopefully into the distance, jerked at the sound of Micah's voice, and looked down at him with worried eyes. Micah could see her clearly, yet he could also see the great oak tree behind her just as clearly. Continuing to peer down at him, she cocked her head to one side, as if she was confused or curious.

Micah considered the possibility that she didn't recognize him, as absurd as it was. Yet here she was… it was clearly his mother! But the stage gown… perhaps she wasn't a mother yet? She looked so young, yet without the innocense that her tombstone portrait portrayed.

"Christine?"

The woman's head went from cocked to forward at the sound of her name, and she stared hard at Micah's face, furrowing her brow.

_Angel?_

She took a few steps toward him, and while Micah could see every movement she made in slow motion as she walked, it was as if she'd glided to him in a mere split-second. Christine bent over, and reached a silvery hand to quiver centimeters away from Micah's face. Micah felt a cool sensation wash through his skin as the fabric of her dress draped over her neck and brushed his arm.

After a moment of anxious consideration, Micah was alarmed when Christine quickly drew back, a look of anger and despair etched on her pale features.

_Where in the world have you been hiding?_

Micah was completely at a loss for what the ghost of his mother wanted of him. He had troubles of his own in this world… how was he supposed to help her?

_Angel of music you deceived me…_

Angel of music? That was it! Micah recalled immediately a scene from recently in the lair, between Erik and Marie while Micah had been resting on the couch. The two were singing playfully to each other, Erik half-heartedly trying to turn it into a music lesson as he always tried. Marie had dodged behind the organ while Erik wasn't looking, and the playful phantom had begun pacing the room in mock thought, singing to her all the while…

_Where in the world could you be hiding, really you are quite clever!_

Marie had giggled too much to stay hidden for long, and was forced to sing back to him as punishment for being found, and she did, teasing his superior stealth skills and trying to impress him by singing a line he had taught her.

_Angel of music guide and guardian, grant to me your glory!_

Micah stood up slowly, brushing the dirt from his trousers. The angel of music, that was it! The angel was Erik, and Christine was still searching, no longing, for him to come back to her, just like when she was younger!

"Christine, I'm not Erik. I'm sorry for confusing you."

The poor woman only drooped her head, refusing to look at Micah.

"I'm Erik's son, your son."

Christine looked at him sharply again, beginning to look alarmed and confused once more. Micah decided to keep things simple.

"I know where Erik is. I can help you find him. Then you'll be reunited."

Of course Micah had no idea how that would go over, but the joy that radiated from his mother's face lit up her features and made her silver figure glow until she was a bright star staring down joyfully at him.

Micah took a deep breath, and continued.

"But I need your help ma-Christine."

The light dimmed slightly.

"He's in trouble. Big trouble. I..I think he's hurt. My sister is there too, with him. They're both hurt I think. I need to save them, or they might die. I don't know what to do! Everyone but them is dead, and I'm being hunted as well… I don't understand how any of this happened, everything just happened so fast after you died, I haven't slept soundly since…"

Micah fell back to the Earth, sobbing uncontrollably as the reality of the past few months sank into him.

Christine immediately looked concerned at the change in his demeanor. She glided down to him, and Micah once again felt a cool sensation as she gently held his face in both her hands. She gazed at his face, as if taking in every inch of his appearance, studying it. Seeming satisfied, she nodded and smiled comfortingly.

Micah began to feel that earlier sense of peace, but panicked when her already vapory form began to disappear as she backed away. She was leaving.

"NO! Mama! Christine! I need your help! Aren't you going to help me?"

The last thing Micah saw of her was her head, shaking vigorously 'yes' and smiling at him. Then she twisted her body around as if returning to a dance, and a waiting audience.

_Masquerade, paper faces on parade…hide your face so the world will never find you…_

Micah slowly stood up, feeling slightly dazed. Did that really just happen? Had he seen his mother? Her ghost?!?

Smacking himself mentally, Micah dwelled on what he now had. Christine said she would help him, but he was nowhere closer to knowing what to do than he had been before.

_Masquerade…_

How in the world was he going to get Erik and Marie out of prison? With gypsies hunting him, no less?

_Paper faces on parade…_

He had to think of something, and quickly. Every minute counted!

_Hide your face so they'll never know what's happening…_

Micah stopped. What was that?

_Micah… you have the strength of your father and Raoul's cunning._

Then it made sense. Christine was with him, trying to help him after all! And she was telling him to hide his face, or his emotions at least, and use his resources. Well, what resources? Micah kicked a stone on the ground. All he had was himself.

_And that's all you need…_

Then suddenly it came to him. Micah knew exactly what to do. He just needed one thing. Micah frowned. He didn't know where that one thing, or more precisely, person, was. Then Christine answered.

Micah took a step backwards as a vision of the streets of Paris flooded his mind. The image flashed quickly through town, stopping and glancing at street signs, until suddenly a small house stood in front of him, and through the window Micah saw what he was looking for. Madame Giry. And now, thanks to Christine, he knew where to find her.

Micah felt a warmness inside him that he felt was the result of Christine's excitement at helping him.

"Right," he began. "Now it's time for action."

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It had been a full day since Marie and Erik had been thrown unceremoniously into their cell, and Marie felt herself shiver as evening approached and with it, the cold night. Her gaze floated over to Erik, who was once again sleeping. Marie wiped a hand across her face, trying to clear away the grime of the latest series of abuse, which had come as soon as most of the town had finished dinner.

Marie's eyes raked Erik's form, and for a moment she was proud that she had saved him from most of the garbage and other hurled objects. His wound had stopped bleeding, but only since he was stationary and not moving at the moment.

The sudden lull of activity after a hard day of public humiliation and torture made Marie feel drowsy. She was tired and sore, and needed sleep just as much as her father. Figuring the general public had also had enough for one day, Marie lay down and made as if to snuggle in under her father's arm. Then she heard the footsteps.

Adrenaline pumping, Marie took her usual defensive position in front of Erik as she heard many footsteps come her way. Five, no six, men were on their way to her cell. And if her sense were still sharp, they had all been drinking. The smell of the alcohol on their breaths coupled with fear ate at her insides.

A key turned in the lock, and before she could cry out and latch onto Erik, a pair of hands had grabbed her around the waist and dragged her away as another covered her mouth to keep from screaming.

Marie fought, kicked, and struggled for all she was worth. Soon she found herself being gagged with a foul-tasting, gritty rag and thrown into a nearby empty cell with her hands tied behind her back. All she could do was try to look fierce.

"Alright then girly, it's about time we had our fun."

Marie's heart sank as she recognized the cockney accent of the man who had wanted her from the moment of her arrest. That could only mean the men wanted one thing…

She was powerless as the man pushed her against the hard rock of the wall, his mouth crashing down around hers, licking and biting at the edges of her gag, and pressing his body roughly into hers, all to the catcalls of the men around him.

Tears leaked out of the corners of Marie's eyes as he ripped her now rag-like dress at the shoulder, and began to grope her hard. She began to sob through the gag; his breath reeked of cruelty.

"Ay… wot's this now?"

Most of the men turned as a boy around Marie's age poked his head into the cell, frowning.

"I thought you said you gents was only checkin to see 'ow she was doing!"

The man assaulting Marie dropped her suddenly, and Marie had never welcomed the hard, rock floor more.

"Mattie, get 'chore arse out o 'ere, and back on duty! Your job's to watch 'oo comes in and out of the jail, and 'tis none your business what your betters do once cleared and inside."

The boy didn't back down.

"Go stuff your knobs somewhere else, dad. They got prostitutes for that."

The man stalked angrily towards what appeared to be his son.

"'Ow dare you come in here... I ought ta bust your arse!"

The boy was still undaunted.

"Bust my arse and I'll 'ave your sorry excuse for policemen friends exposed and arrested."

The men all laughed.

"Right boy, like you and a girl can take down a police force. We had permission to have fun with her tonight." The second man jerked a knarled thumb in Marie's direction.

The boy smiled. "Now 'oo do you think the public will believe? Wiv the phantom or not, dress 'er up a liddle bit, a right pretty sight she'd be, crying and denoucin' the cruelities of the evil, evil men."

Aforementioned evil men glared. One tugged nervously at his neck collar.

"I need my job I do, I have a pregnant wife."

He quickly left.

"Yeah... " Another piped up. "my time's are troubled enough. Don't need unemployment on top of it."

Slowly, the men all dispersed until only the cockney man, his son, and Marie were left.

"Alright, you won this time Mattie, but tomorrow you're getting transferred to other prisoners, and then we'll be able to continue our game, uninterrupted." He glanced back at Marie, licking his lips. She cowered and let out a whimper, to his delight.

"Get out."

Marie was reminded of Erik in the way the boy inflicted cold steel into his words. His father hissed, and left the cell.

As soon as he was gone, the boy rushed to her side. Marie flinched at his touch, and continued to sob silently.

"There now, it's alright, they're gone."

Marie was trembling and shaking violently.

"I'm Mattie now ain't I, and you must be the one they all come to see. You and the man." Marie continued to shiver.

Mattie gestured to her ripped shoulder.

"If I may?"

Marie didn't respond, she merely hissed and made sure her hair covered the bad side of her face.

Mattie quickly pinned the stray fabric back to her shoulder, and then just looked at her for a moment.

"You're 'is daughter, ain't choo?"

Marie's head snapped around.

"Why?" She asked viciously, and through her tears.

Mattie was unperturbed, and merely smiled.

"I 'eard wot you was doing for 'im. Protectin' 'im and the likes. 'E must be a great dad..." Here Mattie trailed off, lost in his thoughts.

"But wot you need is something proper to wear, pretty girl you are and all..."

He blushed under Marie's intense stare.

"Ere now, I'll help you back to your dad, and I'll come back wiv something nice to wear, and a medicine woman. I 'eard your dad wasn't 'is tip top self after those bastards got done wiv 'im."

Marie allowed him to lead her back to her cell with Erik, and began to wonder about his motives. What was he doing after all, helping monsters like them? No one was supposed to understand them, let alone offer to help them.

As Mattie kissed her hand with great relish despite her filth, Marie wondered if maybe, just maybe, she quite possibly could have made a friend.


End file.
